The Missing Frame
by Snowyflakes
Summary: Silvio is a man that aspires for material wealth, donning the name Link Sherwood, he allies himself with a landlady. But when it comes down to it, could it be that their social lies force them to see that they aren't who they perceive themselves to be? AU
1. May 17th

: The Missing Frame :

.May 17th.

Everything slowed as he fell. His eyes shot open wide as he fell into his bed. He curled up in the center of the mattress, shaking. Sweat rolled down his forehead from his hairline. His shoulder and leg ached and throbbed in pain. He was shaken by the dream. It was so vivid. So real. It was as if he'd just relived that night once again. That horrid night.

His mother was sick and they didn't have the money for a doctor. He had to do what he had to do. He stole little things at first. No one noticed anything. Then he started to move up, stealing things of higher value. He was very good at this craft, he found. But he soon got careless as his confidence grew. He'd sold almost everything he'd stolen, and then he hid the money, saving it until the day when he had enough for the doctor to come see his mother.

His recklessness got him caught. His intuition had told him to hold tight one night, stay in his hiding spot, but he decided to make a run for it and was soon found himself face to face with the police guard. Fear and anxiety of the situation coursed through him and his instinct told him to run.

He ran.

Then he fell. The pain was intense, tearing away at his flesh. He screamed as the white hot waves ran through his shoulder and thigh from the metal lodged in his skin.

The guards lowered their smoking guns and approached him as he twisted and writhed in sheer agony. He watched as they started yelling and everything went black.

He later found himself in court and then sentenced for five years in prison. He was thirteen.

When he was almost fifteen, he grudgingly received a letter from a prison guard, whom thoroughly despised him. He learned then that all his efforts were in vain. For a long time, he did not fall asleep with dry eyes.

He did not go back to sleep as these memories rushed through his head. There was something strange though. He couldn't remember his mother's name. He, in fact, could not even remember his own. Nobody in the prison knew his name, as he was only known as prisoner number 515. That was it.

About a year before, he'd gotten into a brawl with one of the inmates who'd provoked him. It ended with him getting his head knocked into the cement walls of the prison building. It was only then that the guard felt it necessary to intervene. Prisoner 515 then suffered from amnesia, and, over time, soon regained most of his memories.

The only thing he'd remembered clearly after the fight was that he had only about a year left to go. Just one year. He'd been marking his cell walls the time in months he'd spent in the prison. He came in five Mays ago.

He turned and looked at his makeshift time frame, seeing the five tally marks next to all the months, except May. It was coming soon. His release was coming. This thought of freedom excited him as he watched the sunlight slowly drift into his cell and a smile crept slowly onto his face.

"515! What're you smirking at?" a venomous voice spewed from outside his cell.

It was time to start a new day. He got out of his bed and quickly made it and stood ready for inspection, the grin now faded away.

He was surprised when several of the guard approached his cell, unlocked and demanded with as much distain as they could muster that he follow them.

"You know what today is, you wrench?" one of them asked, loathing dripping from his mouth like acid. Prisoner 515 only shook his head. "It's May seventeenth; you're release day, boy."

It was here. It was finally happening.

His visit and release with the warden was quick and discreet. He was handed a package containing the items he had on him when he entered the jail. He was then ushered out of the warden's office and out into a hall that would take him to freedom after he changed into some old ragged clothes and out of his prison uniform.

Prisoner 515 clutched his package as the guards led him to the closed gate that had blocked his way to the outside world for five years. The gate that had robbed him of most of his adolescent years.

As one of the guards began to unlock it, another roughly grabbed prisoner 515's package. "You won't need this," he spat, tearing it from prisoner 515's hands.

He stared down at his now empty hands, disappointment eating at him. The gate was opened and he was shoved through to the morning on the other side of the gates. The creak and slam was audible as he stood there in the morning unsure of where to go.

Sighing, he wandered down the street. Upon seeing a hat he fancied hanging outside on a clothesline, presumably just freshly washed, he quickly swiped it and went on his way.

He stopped and stood at a street corner far off from the prison when he saw gentlemen of high class make their way towards him through his long, messy blond hair. Envy seethed at him as he bowed to the two gentlemen, receiving a polite acknowledgement in the form of a nod. As they passed he listened to them.

"… Can't seem to find any traces."

"Our police force is completely unreliable…"

Theft.

That was it. He'd forgotten in his excitement of freedom about the money he'd hidden. He quickly made his way down the street, not completely sure of where he was going, just as long as he found someone.

Sure enough, he spotted a homeless man, like himself, sleeping away. The man kept his belonging in a sack next to him. Deciding against waking him, he simply nicked the man's sack kept on walking.

He walked for about two blocks when he saw some ladies socializing on a street corner and he approached them, giving them a respectful bow.

"Excuse me," he began and then proceeded to ask them if they knew where he might find Sherwood Road. They looked at him in disgust, fanning themselves and then pointed him in the right direction. He thanked them and went about his way, ignoring their disgust and contempt for him.

When Sherwood Road came into view he turned and walked along the wall, looking carefully in the grass at the bottom of the wall. He soon came upon a large brick he'd engraved with an "s" and proceeded to remove it. Upon the removal, he pulled out the sack that had waited for him for five years, grateful that nobody had ever discovered it.

He opened it to make sure all the money was still in there, and sure enough it was along with a small flute he'd kept with it for safe keeping. It was his mother's flute, he knew. He knew that she'd taught how to play it too.

He replaced the brick and hurried off down the street as the night's insomnia caught up with him. He sat down outside in an alley between some poor buildings. Spying a crate, possibly from the market not far off, he put the sack that contained his money into the sack he'd stolen and then placed it inside the crate. He then laid down and curled up his tall, lean body as much as possible, using the sack as a pillow and drifted off into sleep, not noticing the darkening clouds as droplets of water soon fell from the black sky.

* * *

Hey all! New story, and this is set around Victorian times, I guess. I also have some things to say about this story before I move on with this. I actually wasn't going to post this until everything was written, but I'm sure that I have this pretty well planned out, which might mean even longer delays in my other stories (as they are highly disorganized, especially when compared to this story).

Later on, I know I'm going to probably get people saying, "CHANTAL! WTF! this doesn't belong here! LOL!11" It will seem that it won't belong in fanfiction because of the lack of characters it will appear I'm using (like the:downward:spiral), but that will change. So please hold out on any comments saying I'm better off posting this story on FictionPress, I know exactly what I'm going to do with story (for once).

In any case, I have written up to half of chapter five, but I'm only going to post this first chapter to see if this story might be of ANY interest to anybody. If you think it's uninteresting I'll just stop writing this, wipe it off my hard drive and get back to working on the other stories then stopping in my fustration, then get back to writing.

Alright. I think I have covered everything... If not, I'll babble more in chapter 2 endlessly. Okay, thanks for reading the story and my psycho babble and review! Okay, later kids.

Chantal


	2. Summer Rain

: The Missing Frame :

.Summer Rain.

"Hey… Hey, mister! Wake up, mister!" a voice called out, shaking his shoulder with enthusiasm. He groaned and opened his eyes, expecting to find that he was in his prison cell, dreaming. Instead, he found the face of a little girl with blond hair and bright green eyes staring at him. "What're you doing out here, mister?" she asked him, quite curious.

He stared at her before replying, "Sleeping."

"Don't you have a home with a bed to sleep in?"

He shook his head. "No."

She cocked her head to one side with a small "oh" before a smile broke out across her face and she asked him cheerfully, "My name's Aryll! What's yours, mister?"

"Huh? My name?" he asked as he sat up in the mud. "I don't recall having one," he told her truthfully.

"Oh… Well, how's 'Silvio' then?" she asked him excitedly.

" 'Slivio?' "

"Yup. I remember hearing it in a bedtime story Malon once read me."

He stared at her, confusion scrawled across his face. "Whom, may I ask, is Malon?"

"Oh! Oh! She's this nice lady I live with! Would you like to come with me and meet her? She's a really good cook and we can play together, too!" Aryll asked him, now tugging on his sleeve.

"All right…" he said dozily and quickly grabbed the sack he'd been sleeping on. He looked up at the sky, now noticing dark gray clouds covered it and his clothes soaking wet. "Did it rain?" he asked aloud stupidly.

"Oh, yes it did. Were you out here when it was raining?" she questioned as he was lead along by the arm to where she lived.

"I suppose I was," he said lazily, taking his eyes off of the clouds. It was definitely starting to get late in the evening as he was lead down the street.

Aryll took him to a poor looking building of apartments and they headed up what appeared to be a clumsily built staircase, but it held their weight without question. They walked hand in hand down a hall after exiting the staircase to a room where Aryll knocked softly on the wooden door.

The sound of a lock clicking out of place and the door was opened to a crack and he could see a redheaded woman peer from underneath the chain. "Aryll? Who's this?" she quickly demanded from the little girl, staring her down with intense blue eyes.

"This is Silvio, Malon. He's come to play with me! He's really nice!" Aryll exclaimed. The redhead, Malon, sighed then closed the door. The sound of the chain being removed was heard and then the door was opened by Malon to allow passage for Aryll and her newfound playmate.

"Good evening, Silvio. Would you like something to eat?" Malon asked him politely, any dislike for him that she might have had disappeared.

He felt his stomach gurgle in emptiness. "Yes, please."

"Come on, Silvio. I want to show you Lily," Aryll told him before rushing off to a small room as he swiftly followed her. She held up from the bed, Silvio assumed she must share with Malon, a ragged doll that was obviously well loved by the small child.

"Hullo, Lily," he greeted, taking the doll's small arm in his fingers and giving it a little shake. A giggle sounded from the child and she placed her doll back on the bed.

"What's in the sack?"

"A little of this and that, like money and such," Silvio replied to the girl's never ending curiosity. "I have a flute, too."

"A flute? You play the flute?"

He nodded. "Just not in a very, very long time." Another quick "oh" came from her before she requested he play. "I might not be all that good."

"That's all right. You said you hadn't played in a long, long time, remember? Please?" she begged him. Silvio smiled at the child's innocence and then pulled out the flute. He sat down on the floor with Aryll plopping down next to him.

He softly played a few random notes before proceeding to try and pick out the right sounds for a song that his mother used to play to lull him to sleep. When he was in prison and could not sleep, he would close his eyes and then listen very carefully and he heard the melody softly in his ears as he'd swim into sleep.

"Sorry for interrupting, but the food's ready," Malon injected. Silvio stopped his playing and looked up at her and nodded. He got up from his spot on the floor and placed the flute back in his sack and allowed Aryll to lead him to a small table where some soup sat waiting for them.

"Thank you, this is very kind of you," he said as he sat down at a chair, Aryll taking the seat next to him.

"Your welcome," Malon replied. "Where're you from, Silvio?"

He shrugged, not sure how to answer the question. "I don't remember," he confessed. "I don't even have any place to live at the moment. Would you happen to know of any places with some extra rooms?"

She looked up at him from her soup. "Actually, a tenant just moved out from a room on the top floor here. If you have the money, I could take you to the landlady."

"I would like that very much, thank you," Silvio said and then began to eat his warm soup. He smiled a little as Aryll began to slurp her, receiving a sharp reprimand from Malon.

When they'd finished, Malon stood, smoothing her skirt. "Aryll, take care of the dishes while I take Silvio to see Belinda, all right?"

"Yes ma'am."

Malon then took Silvio out the door of their apartment and back down the flight of stairs and to a room on the ground floor where she knocked. They waited in silence as a harsh "yes" sounded from within.

"Miss Belinda? It's me, Malon. I found a man that would like to rent out the room on the top floor," Malon called out to the closed door.

"Just a moment," the voice from within called back. The door was opened by a petite woman. "Thank you, Malon."

"It was no trouble," she said before she turned and left Silvio to do business with the woman, Belinda.

"Evening, sir. My name is Belinda," she said with a honey sweet voice.

"Silvio," he said simply.

"Nice to meet you. Now, onto business. Any damages or anything that needs repair are to be paid for by you. I don't cook; you make your own meals. Washing clothing, sheets, whatever, is down here on the ground floor, just down the hall. Clothesline is out back. Anything stolen from there is not my responsibility."

"Understood."

"Excellent. Then allow me to show you to your room," she said, a smile stretching across her face. As they proceeded up the stairs, Belinda informed him of his rent and anything concerning his room. She handed him the key to the room and then turned and left, giving him one last glance as she disappeared down the stairs.

Silvio took the key and unlocked the door to his new room. He entered and found that it had a similar layout to that of Malon and Aryll's apartment. He opened the door to the bedroom and dropped his sack on the bed before opening it to get to his money.

He counted it and discovered he had enough to pay this month's rent. He was tempted to go down and pay the pretty landlady her money, but decided against as he might need it for food or other needs, if he didn't get lucky tonight.

Apart from the small bedroom, the flat also contained a small kitchen and living area with a tiny bathroom as well. He sighed and shook his head. It was probably the best he could get for such a price, even if it was a dump.

Slipping the key into his pocket with his gloved hands, Silvio made his way out the door of his apartment and out into the night. He was amazed at the amount of time that had gone by since Aryll had awoken him. Night appeared to have long since settled in.

Silvio swiftly went about his business under the soft glow of the street lamps that occasionally lit the street, noting the new manholes in the sidewalks. He weaved in and out of alley ways before he came upon a pub.

He entered the pub and sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. A drink. His first drink in five years. It made him feel a little giddy on the inside.

He grabbed his mug and began to down the liquid as he turned to look at his surroundings. It was a gloomy pub, packed with people only warmed with a hearty fire in a hearth. He eyed the poker that lay next to it.

There was a jewelry shop a couple streets down with a manhole right in front of it. Before he was caught, Silvio would use a crowbar or poker to lift the manhole and hide there with the stolen goods for a while before he deemed it safe to return to the surface.

Silvio, however, despised the sewers. They reeked of an intense smell that one could not even dream of and it was infested with vermin of all sorts. He questioned whether or not to return to the shop and hide in the sewer.

He decided against it out of his contempt for the sewers and went back to trying to tap his memory for other easy targets.

The dress shop. There was a dress shop five blocks away from the pub. He slid his mug back on the counter and slipped off without paying. He snickered as he exited the pub, a knife in hand, sure that the man he'd nicked it from wouldn't find it gone until much later. He couldn't recall how many times he'd left without paying, and yet no one ever seemed to notice.

He walked the five blocks, not a single person in sight. All had either retired for the night or had gone to one of the city's pubs, and Silvio was left to roam around freely. He weaved himself through some allies before he came upon the back door to the shop. Pulling the knife he'd stole from the pub, he placed it into the door's lock, jiggling and twisting until the lock came undone.

Smirking, Silvio opened the door to the shop's backroom and casually walked over to the safe, wondering if the combination remained the same. The owner of the shop was too stupid to think of changing it. He tried several combinations, trying to remember correctly as he jogged what was left of his broken memory.

His frustration growing, he placed his ear to the safe door and started listening. All three numbers soon came into order and Silvio had the door to the safe open and he quickly pulled out the most of the money, finding it malevolent of him to take it all. He shoved what he took into his pockets before shutting the door closed.

He spun the lock back to the original number before he touched the safe and then made his escape back out the door. He walked along the streets back to his apartment for some more rest.

When morning came an alarm was raised and the police rushed to the dress shop where the owner was in hysterics as Silvio slept on with a smile plastered on his face.

* * *

Well, it appears somebody likes this story. It truly doesn't matter to me how many people read a story, as long as one person enjoys it, it's worth writing. And so, in the next chapter coming up, you'll get to see how Silvio makes his living before we get a little more into Belinda. I have nothing more to say, so thanks for reading, and review!

Chantal


	3. Disposable

: The Missing Frame :

.Disposable.

Summer was upon him as Silvio sat patiently in his train seat by the window. He watched silently as trees flew by his window in a blur of green which contrasted against the blue June sky with the slow moving puffs of clouds. Looking ahead, he found that the station was coming into view and he eagerly grabbed his bag as the train slowed and pulled to a stop.

He paid no mind to the conductor's calls as he rose from his seat and exited the train. Stepping onto the platform, he then followed the mass of people that were leaving the station as well. He blended in easily among them and quickly made his way to his destination to the town's pawn shop.

He knew that he shouldn't make his visits frequent like before, as suspicion may rise. Five years in prison had not changed his way, but only made his clever at it.

He gave his polite nods to the gentlemen, and tipping his stolen hat in greeting to the ladies he passed until he came upon the pawn shop. Silvio was pleased to see that it was still in business.

He grasped the brass handle, opened the door and entered. The shop was as it was before, only now it was crammed with many different items. He stepped lightly and casually around the items that were laid carelessly on the floor to reach the counter where a gruff man sat.

"Mornin'," Silvio greeted and slipped his hand into his bag. The man grunted in response and stared him down with a constant stink eye. Silvio was not intimidated by the man and gently placed some of the goods he'd stolen in the past few weeks.

"You sellin' all of i'?" he growled in a deep voice. Silvio gave him a silent nod in response. "Eh… Hey! Hey, Earl! Get out here! A customer has some gems ya' might want'a look a'."

Silvio stood patiently waiting as he listened to the shuffle of papers and a man's shoes. The stout man, Earl appeared and produced an eye glass from his pocket as he approached the counter. He greedily picked up the jewels and inspected them from behind the eyeglass, eyeing their beauty and muttering as he did so.

When he finished he announced a price for the jewels with struck Silvio with a blast of dissatisfaction with the man's dishonesty, or perhaps complete ineptitude. Silvio snatched the jewels from the counter and placed them back in his bag in a flash saying, "Actually, I'd rather keep them."

Instead, Silvio sold the pawn shop a jewelry box, cuff links and a freshly stolen hat which he found much to his distaste. He took the money from the shop keepers and slid it into his bag and went out the door with a wave of good-bye.

Now, back out into the sunny streets, Silvio wandered about streets, searching for a local jewelry store. He slinked around, watching the upper classes chat and the children roam around playing mindless games.

It was simple. He envied them. Silvio had always lived a life of poverty and seeing many people of such class around him spurred the emotion. Had he been born into a wealthier family, there wouldn't have been any need for him to steal to try and raise some money for a damned doctor. And if he didn't steal, Silvio would have never wasted five years of his life in a prison where he and his inmates were mistreated and despised by the guard.

But it was that time spent in prison that he decided that he would no longer live a poor life, but rather extravagantly, like the rich. He had long since yearned for the comfort of being financially stable, the promise of three meals a day, and the easy living. His desires drove him to being thinking, planning of ways to continue his theft unnoticed.

He could slip on by under the police's watchful radar, but how should his raids be explained? Silvio pondered more on the police. He was sure that the government had had problems with them before, as there were some corrupt officials in the force before. There were also officers that defied orders in the police as well.

Silvio shuddered under the warm sun. He could feel the cool pressure points in his thigh and shoulder begin to throb with heat.

Officers like the ones that caught him. They did not have the authority to shoot him, yet they fired, two of their bullets sinking into his leg and shoulder. It was unfathomable for him to think that he'd gotten caught as he was able to evade the police for such a period of time.

_You got cocky._

Indeed. He had gotten cocky. He'd gotten quite confident with his skills that he got reckless. He was going to make sure that'd he'd never make that mistake again. Lesson learned.

Silvio soon found the jeweler's shop hidden under the shade of a canopy that stretched most of the width of the walk. He drifted out of his thoughts and walked briskly towards the shop door.

As he entered, the jeweler looked up from his spot at the store front where he was displaying several fine pieces of jewelry. The man looked Silvio up and down as if to say, "What's a man of _your_ status doing in my shop?"

Silvio, however, was not greeted with such comments. "Good morning, sir. What may I do for you today?"

Silvio became quick on his feet for the excuse for his appearance for one holding items of value. "I was sent by my master to sell some jewels. They've been in his family for such a long time and he's trusted me to fetch a fine price for them."

The man's face brightened. "Ah… Yes, yes! Of course. Let's have a look, now, shall we?" Silvio followed the man to a counter near the back of the shop. He, like Earl at the pawn shop, produced an eyeglass and began to inspect the jewels before giving Silvio his price.

"A tad better than the others, but still… My master might not be pleased…"

The price was raised greatly, and Silvio agreed. He pocketed the money and bid the jeweler a good day and he was back off to the train station.

Once back at the station, Silvio bought himself yet another cheap train ticket and boarded. He was able to snatch a window seat once again, he always liked them best. After sitting in his patiently the train began to move and a conductor entered the car for a show of tickets.

Silvio produced his, smirking all the while in triumph as the train took him back home.

* * *

This chapter would have been up sooner, but I was having problems uploading documents for whatever reason. I can promise over the next few chapters we'll get more into Belinda as Silvio takes more and more action into his plans. Also, Silvio's going to get more involved with the police. So that's what you'll have to look forward to. Thanks to everyone that reviewed, and thanks for reading. All righty then, laters.

Chantal


	4. Stealth

: The Missing Frame :

.Stealth.

He was late. Late on his payment for his rent, again. He never seemed to get the money to Belinda on time, but she never seemed to mind. She'd just flash her pretty smile and tell him that as long as he pays, he's fine. He found this strange, as from conversations he'd overheard from other tenants and Malon herself, Belinda was quite stingy when it came to paying rent on time.

Now months into his freedom and the February cold had him in shivers. To keep himself warm inside his apartment and out, he'd stolen a fine looking coat back in November off a clothesline as he went on a nighttime raid.

Over the course of the months, he found himself feeling quite giddy as the police had absolutely no clue on where to begin with his crimes. He'd given them absolutely no leads as far as he was concerned, and if he did slip, it just proved that the force was quite mediocre.

Silvio was just returning from a day trip to a far away town to sell some of his stolen items. He didn't like to sell everything he stole; he found some items that struck his interest which ended in him keeping them safe in his apartment.

His income had definitely accumulated enough to where he might be able to pull off living with aristocracy. This fact pleased Silvio highly. He began to form plans during the day if he was awake on how to go about that transition. Normally, he'd form what appeared to be a brilliant plan one day and then the next he would find several holes that he could not think of filling.

One other major problem he was not quite sure how he was going to be able to pull off living such extravagantly without landing himself back into the poor house. He'd mulled over this problem coming up with several solutions, all leading him to dead ends. It seemed hopeless now that he could pull it all off by himself, but he had to try.

Silvio approached the apartments, seeing Aryll sitting alone on the stairs. She looked up and smiled at him with flushed cheeks from the weather, quickly rising to run and greet him. Silvio apologized to her, saying that he couldn't play today, as he was tired and had some business to settle with Belinda. Aryll's face fell slightly, but brightened again when he promised to play with her the next day.

Grinning from ear to ear, she hurried off up the stairs to go back to Malon, leaving Silvio to do his business dealings with Belinda, which would be all too easy. She was not the uptight person Malon had described to him. In fact, to him, she was extremely lax. The reason she gave such slack was unknown to him, but whatever the reason, he was extremely grateful for it.

Silvio strode towards Belinda's apartment, knocked and waited for the sharp "yes" he'd come to know as a greeting. He called out to her, giving her his name and that he wanted to pay his rent before he heard the scuffle of Belinda making her way to the door.

He listened as the lock slid out of place and the door swung open. "Evenin', Belinda," he said pleasantly. He surprised himself with his liking towards the woman. He pulled out his pocket February's rent and handed it to her. "I'd like to say thank you for allowing such slack on my payments."

"Ah… It's no problem," she said, waving the subject off. She flashed him her famous smile. "If that's all, then good night, Silvio," and she shut the door.

She was sly.

Silvio glided up the rickety stairs to his room. He had some more planning to do before he rested up and went back to work.

As laid on his lumpy bed, Silvio realized that he must continue these raids for at least a year if he was to maintain a life as an aristocrat. He smirked to himself and went on to his plans.

He'd stolen a stethoscope from a local doctor, which he now used to quickly pick out combinations for safes faster than he could his ear. He also was able to make himself a lock pick out of the knife he'd nicked from the pub on the day of his release.

Silvio began to ponder his options as to where he might strike next. Plans and escape routes forming at top speed in his head as his mind clicked away with new thoughts.

So far, everything was going just like he wanted. Perfect.

* * *

Hey all, I have actually, just finished writing chapter 7 of this. Things are starting to slow down at that point, but that's all right as far as I'm concerned. I know these chapters are real short compared to what I'm now normally writing, but there are these big gaps in time and I actually just feel the only way to justify that is to separate them in chapters. Anyway, coming up in the next chapter, things aren't going to be so perfect for Silvio and you'll get an explanation for his behavior later on in the story. Well, I've got nothing else to say, so thanks for reading and review!

Chantal


	5. The Fox and the Landlady

: The Missing Frame :

.The Fox and the Landlady.

Everything was in order by this time. He was almost twenty now, and he'd eluded the police like no other man. There was another thief at work in his territory, which he thought as a blessing, as the police might be lead to the other thief and try him for Silvio's crimes.

Silvio walked along with a spring in his step as he made his way down the walk and back to his home. He had many more goods today to add to his ever growing collection of trinkets and cash. He hadn't slept nor had been back at his room since two mornings before. He was eager to get back and put the jewels, watches, pens, whatever he had, in his hiding spot in his mattress.

It was time, Silvio supposed, to begin making a transition to the high class life. Many nights after his raids Silvio laid awake pondering how to go about this transition when he remember the first day he'd sold some of his goods.

A servant. A master. He would have to find a place to stay which would prove himself wealthy. The answer was simple. A long term stay at a hotel. It was expensive to live in a hotel, and he would simply send his servant, Silvio, to the hotel, make a reservation for a room and "wait" for his master to arrive there. Of course, that would be the day Silvio would disappear forever.

That transition plan was easy to concoct, but the question on how he'd be able to manage his lifestyle after Silvio disappeared became a recurring issue. The answer to that question was, too, an easy answer.

An accomplice.

His next question was who? He considered the possibility of a double-life. He could be both the servant and the master, for as long as needed. His servant would make all the raids, while his master lived in the lap of luxury. He'd considered this possibility for a long time, but he could see the pessimist in himself rise up and show him the downsides.

Suspicion may be raised. The servant and the master will never be seen together. He also wouldn't be able to enjoy the fine life without working endless nights to maintain it, and that meant taking time for sleep out of his time of living in luxury.

Silvio found himself thinking in circles on the matter as time progressed, and he soon considered dropping his dream of living as an aristocrat.

He was living quite comfortably now, he might just move out of his apartment and to a better one, but that meant higher rent, and he certainly didn't want to start thinking of a new budget.

Silvio watched as some men heaved an old, battered mattress on their carriage when he came upon the apartments. He was curious as to their business there, but scolded himself as he was sure they didn't concern him.

He climbed the old staircase, which surprisingly was still holding out under his weight (Silvio often feared he might fall through should a step give out). The spring in his step had faded as exhaustion washed over him. Groggily, he made his way to his apartment.

As Silvio reached the top step he noticed something odd. Outside all the apartment doors were bed sheets. His room was the last of them all and his door was wide open.

Silvio stood stock-still at the top step in horror as the panic coursed through his veins. The blood pulsed in his head and he could hear the dull thump of his heart beat. Involuntarily, his left leg moved in a swift motion that set him off in a dash down the short hall to his room.

He flew through the door way into the apartment and turned to find Belinda taking his sheets. She looked at him, genuine surprise on her face at his sudden appearance.

"What're you-" Silvio began, but he couldn't find his voice to put the words into order as he open and closed his mouth in sheer terror.

"Didn't you get the message?" Belinda asked him in complete bewilderment.

"What message?"

"Top floor has the oldest mattresses in the building, and I was able to scrounge up enough money to be able to replace them all," she stated, her brow furrowed in annoyance. "I was pretty sure that everyone on the floor knew it, so I'm here to take your sheets. I'm even washing them for you."

"When're they-" but he stopped. They were here. And it was just his luck that he could hear the men's heavy footsteps outside. "No," Silvio breathed as they entered.

" 'Dis the last one, miss?" one of them asked.

"Yes, it is," Belinda said quite firmly, glaring at Silvio.

Silvio watched in horror as the two reached to pick up his prized mattress. "No," he growled.

The man closest to him whipped his head around to face him. "You say sumthun'?" the man wondered.

"No," Silvio repeated. "No! Out! Out! OUT!" he screeched at them in fury. Belinda, still clutching Silvio's filthy sheets, stepped back shock and fear at Silvio's sudden outburst. His shrieks were enough to make the men drop the mattress and hurry out of the apartment as Belinda's shock faded into outrage in a flash.

"Silvio-!" she began, but he'd grabbed her arm and had begun to drag her out of his room, the sheets now lying on the floor, forgotten. "Hey! Let go!" Silvio's vice grip only tightened and she winced from the pressure he'd forced on her forearm. Belinda quickly maneuvered herself to push herself in front of Silvio. Using her foot, she slammed the door to the apartment shut and it was closed as Silvio tried to push her out.

Silvio, now seeing his efforts were futile if Belinda was in front of the only exit, released his grip. The thin blonde pulled her arm away and began to gently massage where he had roughly grabbed her.

"I'll be _damned_ if I ever let anybody take that mattress," he hissed to the blonde's wide-eyed face. He watched as her violet-blue eyes quivered in terror at his uncharacteristic fury.

Swallowing what was left of her courage she managed to choke out under his menacing glare, "What's so special about that shit mattress anyway?"

"You want to know?" Silvio whispered menacingly, his nose now a mere inch from her own as he bent down to be level with her cowering form. "You want to know?" he asked again.

Belinda clenched her jaw shut tightly, too afraid to answer him.

Upon receiving no response, Silvio took hold of Belinda's arm once again and dragged her back to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. He let go of Belinda and proceeded to forcefully grab the mattress. He lifted it up and ran his fingers along a seam until he came upon a hole, which he then began to pull out his stolen goods from their hiding spot from the inside corner.

Belinda looked on as the only spectator to this unknown man, as she was sure it was not Silvio. She could not bear to look at him, whether it was out of fear or shame, she did not know. Instead, she chose to watch as the many trinkets were thrown to the floor, many of them, thankfully, landing in the forgotten linens, protecting them from harm.

"There!" Silvio yelled, bringing Belinda's attention back to him. She felt daring enough to look him in the eye, seeing blind rage burning within. "See?" And he picked up some of the many jewelry that laid on the floor next to an expensive looking pewter tea saucer and cup. "See? _This_ is why I don't want them taking that damn mattress!" he seethed.

Belinda, losing her nerve, looked back down to study a very pretty necklace that lay in the fallen sheets. Curious, she dared to pick it up for closer inspection. When Silvio made no motion of objection to it, she held it up to study.

It was a beautiful pendant on what she believed to be a pure silver chain. The pendant, itself, was most likely silver. She ogled at the necklace as familiarity struck her. She'd seen this necklace before, but where?

"W-where did you get this?" she asked aloud in her amazement.

Silvio didn't respond.

"Wait a second," she breathed. She had seen it before. It was many months ago as she took a leisurely stroll after visiting the market for some vegetables. She'd stopped at the jeweler's shop window to admire the craftsmanship of it.

There was no way he could have had the money to pay for it. He knew it. She knew it.

He'd stolen it.

"You… You stole this, didn't you?" she accused him in a whisper. His stare was enough to answer her. Frustrated, she herself began to spill a secret. "Damn it! Don't you know Harkinan's been trying for over a year to find the culprit for all these raids, and it's been _you_, hasn't it? Of all the _people_ to rent this room out to, I rent it out to a thief!"

Silvio's response was as dangerously low as her own, but this time, Belinda did not falter under his gaze. "I'll let you know when I care about the goddamn police," he snapped. "You're a smart girl, I'm pretty sure you know what'll happen to you if you don't keep your mouth shut."

Belinda snorted. "I wouldn't even give Harkinan the slightest hint of respect, let alone rat somebody out."

"Have a grudge, do we?"

"You're a smart boy, you shouldn't need me to clarify," she retorted. "Keep your rotten mattress, but you'll also have the new one. I already paid for it."

And she was gone, grabbing the sheets, careful to shake out anything that was hidden in it, and leaving Silvio to question his actions.

_You got careless._

Careless.

Silvio kicked the bedpost in his frustration. He'd promised himself he'd never get like that again, and yet there he went today. He slipped up, and now Belinda knew.

That didn't really matter, though. She'd keep quiet, and if she didn't, Silvio was apt to take care of it.

"Shame. She does have a pretty face," he mused.

* * *

Hey all, chapter six should be posted by Friday. I just have to warn you though, the next two chapters may be kinda boring as they're focusing on Silvio's master plan and him trying to work out the kinks. All righty... I have really nothing to say, it must be too early in the morning. Thanks to the people that have reviewed and reading, I have to go to work now... Grrr...

Chantal


	6. The Serpent and the Tailor

: The Missing Frame :

.The Serpent and the Tailor.

Over a year and a half had passed since the incident between Silvio and Belinda. Silvio, who had long since accumulated enough money to live the rich life, had spent more years than he originally planned living the poor life. He wanted to make sure that he had enough money to maintain his lifestyle for a very long time. Everything hadn't been going according to his mental plan, but it was just going to make his goal even sweeter.

Whom ever it was that had said that victory was sweet, probably didn't even know how right he was, as for Silvio, the rise to a high social standing was the greatest triumph.

Belinda kept her word. She had not told one single soul about what she saw in his apartment since that day two Marches ago. Silvio admired her immensely. She was a woman that sparked his interest, and it wasn't just a physical attraction talking either.

One other reason Silvio had put off with his plans for the transition was because he simply could not find an answer for his two questions. How would he maintain the lifestyle, and how to go about this transformation. His only answer was to get an apprentice and he, himself, could not pull off both positions.

However, on a stroll where he'd pondered these problems, he took notice of a grand-looking hotel. It was simply magnificent in appearance. The double-life solution ticked away at his mind as he passed it. He had the transition completely under control since. It was all worked out.

Perfect.

Next, he had to take care of his apprentice problem. For that, he knew that the only person that could possibly fill the apprentice position besides himself was Belinda.

Over the past three years he'd stayed at her apartments, he'd come to learn that Belinda was extremely intelligent and cunning. He bitterly thought of the irony of her name relating to her personality. It matched perfectly.

He'd often think of her as fox, but the more he got to know her, the more he learned she was a true serpent, for underneath her fur were scales.

Silvio couldn't remember where exactly he had first heard the name Belinda (it must have been in prison), but his curiosity took him to search for a meaning for it. He found that its meaning was not definite, and was quite unclear as no one truly knew the name's meaning. Interpretations were soon made.

"Bella" could have been the first element of the name, which was Italian for "beautiful." The Germanic second element, "lind" stood for "serpent."

It intrigued Silvio.

He later saw the serpent in her rage, and it made him wonder if her own wrath was far worse than the one he could uncharacteristically muster. It was then that he began to formulate plans that involved Belinda as his apprentice. He was sure, if his tricks worked correctly, she would be his apprentice.

As of now, Silvio was on his way to start making the preparations for the transition between his old life and his new one. He was simply ecstatic as he made his way to one of the finest tailors in town.

Before he'd left, he had asked Malon, who often sewed, for help on making measurements. After politely declining her kind offer to make the clothing for him, she took any measurements that he might need and wrote it down for him, which he'd safely stored in his pocket.

He braced himself as he opened the door to the tailor's, the place where he'd begin to set his new life into motion, and stepped inside. Silvio was immediately greeted by a brunette.

It was time to pull the bluff. "Yes, I'm here on business for my master," Silvio informed the woman. "He sent with me his measurements, as he'd like some everyday clothing to wear."

The brunette stood by the front window with the early December sun gleaming through the glass, casting the impression that her hair was a strange shade of green. She pursed her lips as Silvio handed her the measurements before asking what style and fabric she should use.

"He never gave any mention to that," Silvio said. "I suppose he trusts you with that decision."

"Very well," she said before asking how many outfits Silvio's master would like, and received a quick response of three. She nodded before scribbling something down on a piece of paper, inquiring Silvio's curiosity, but he kept himself in check. "Tell your master to stop by two weeks from now, as I'm sure I'll be finished by then. If I'm not here, ask whomever is herefor Saria."

Silvio nodded and then bowed before leaving the shop. He fought the urge to skip all the way back to the apartments for an afternoon nap before he went about some more nighttime business.

Everything was just right. Just perfect.

* * *

I know this chapter was pretty short, but the next one's longer, and one more chapter left before Silvio disappears. After the next chapter, updates will be slower because I've only got up to chapter eight finished. Now, excuse me while I go and wage warfare with my brothers. Thanks for reading and review!

Chantal


	7. Silvio and Sherwood

: The Missing Frame :

.Silvio and Sherwood.

Silvio hastily walked along the streets. The preparations were almost complete. He had everything worked out. There were just two things left to do and Silvio was on his way on disappearing from society forever as far as he was concerned.

Silvio slipped his hand onto the fine brass handle of the tailor's shop and slipped inside. He eagerly looked around for the brunette, Saria, as he fiddled with a package he was holding. He found, however, that there was no one with him in the shop among the many fabrics that lined the walls. Tentatively, he shuffled over to the counter and lightly tapped the bell that sat there.

He scrunched his nose in distaste at the bell. Its shiny surface mocked him with the reflecting light. The window light beamed up at him from the metal in a way that it appeared to look like a comical smile. Silvio's distaste for it escalating, he slid over and blocked the bell from the sunlight.

Reaching for the despised bell, he looked up to find Saria there and immediately withdrew his hand. "Here to collect your master's clothing?" the green brunette asked.

"Yes."

"Very well," she said quickly before disappearing into the backroom, leaving him. Silvio stood alone in the store front, awkwardly out of place in his rubbish clothing when juxtaposed against the fine fabric that surrounded him. When she appeared again, Saria handed over three parcels tightly wrapped together with a tie. "If any adjustments need to be made, just come back and see me."

He paid her generously before hurrying out to the streets. One last thing to take care of now.

Over the time he'd met Belinda, he'd found that she was uncommonly literate. To pass the time when Aryll was off somewhere else, he'd find himself sitting outside lazily watching life go by with Belinda. She'd often bring a book outside with her, and Silvio would take notice that she had a new one almost every week.

"Where do you get all those books?" he'd once asked her.

Startled, she looked over at him. "The library. I don't have the money to buy them all from a store." Then they fell into a comfortable silence. She went back to reading her book and he watched, amused, at a little boy pleading to his mother to buy him a toy. "Silvio?"

Shaken from his trance, he responded softly, "What?"

"Have you ever read one of Shakespeare's plays?"

He stared at her. Confusion was scribbled all over him. "Who?"

"Shakespeare. He was a playwright and poet."

He shook his head and kept quiet for a while as he stared up at a blue afternoon sky. "Actually, miss," he began to confess, "I don't know how to read." Her face was then lit with genuine surprise at his comment.

"Surely you jest?"

"No, but I can read a little. You know, small things."

After that, Belinda requested that he'd come out and sit with her in the afternoons every day. He complied. She would bring out the morning's newspaper and hand it to him, reading aloud for him as he followed along slowly with his finger.

Silvio was not sure when jumbled puzzles of letters formed into words but soon after, she would bring out a chalkboard and he would slowly and shakily try to copy Belinda's perfect, elegant writing.

He would often get frustrated with his limited success. One day he'd gotten so flustered that he shoved the chalkboard into Belinda's lap and walked away when she called out to him to come back. He ignored her at first.

"Silvio! Hold up! I think I just realized what's wrong! Just stop for a minute!"

So he did.

"Good. Now, turn around and just walk back here for a moment."

And he did.

"And?" he asked her in a growl, his patience lost.

The blonde gazed up at him and looked him directly in the eyes, not the least bit frightened of his scowl. "You step with your left leg first."

"So?"

Belinda shook her head at his stupidity. "You're left-handed, Silvio."

Silvio stared at her, feeling too inept to respond. She only motioned for him to sit down and try again. Belinda wiped his half of the slate clean and handed it back to him.

Sighing, Silvio tried again.

Silvio thought it lucky that he had Belinda to learn from. She taught him how to read and write; something he never dreamed of learning.

He giddily walked the street. He was on his way now. On his way, indeed. Everything was working out fabulously so far. He couldn't have asked for it to go any better. He'd worked everything out. Every last detail it seemed.

Silvio eagerly sprung up the steps of the hotel he'd decided on living at. Buying a house was too risky, he felt. A hotel room would fit his needs much more anyway.

He purposely walked towards the check-in counter and handed the woman a letter he'd produced from his pocket.

"Ah, will you be sharing the room with Mr. Sherwood?" she asked him politely, seemingly unfazed by his filth.

"Oh, no. I was told that I am to simply prepare his room for his arrival and draw him a bath. I'm sure his letter inquires that he'll arrive later on."

The brunette looked back down and skimmed through the letter. "My apologies, I seemed to have missed that." She then handed him a key to a first-class suite before calling over a man, a bellhop to lead him to the room.

He followed the young bellhop through the twisting corridors of the hotel before they stopped outside a room. The man left after receiving a small tip from Silvio and he entered his new room.

Silvio wandered around the room, exploring the many fine things it had. There was a living area that lead to a bedroom with a large bath. He entered the bedroom and plopped the packages he'd been holding onto the soft comforter and proceeded to open the ones from the tailor's, hoping the clothes fit.

He pulled one package of clothing out and laid it on the bed before taking the two others towards the dresser. He timidly opened the dark dresser and found that a mirror was on the door. He gently placed the clothing inside before he turned and studied himself.

He found that dirt and grime seemed to cover his face and neck. His collarbone was splattered with flecks of dirt and there were dark rings that ran along his neck. His sharp nose unflatteringly pulled attention, seemingly sharper with the filth that stretched across his cheekbones and nose. His long hair was greasy and dark; almost brown it seemed, under his battered and worn hat that sat atop his head. The rest of his clothing did not help his appearance.

He looked tattered in his reflection. It surprised him. He was quite unaware of his appearance, as the only time he ever saw himself was in the shallow rain puddles or rippling pond waters. It was his first clear look at himself in his life, and he wasn't too fond of it.

The only clean feature of himself it seemed was his sharp, dark blue eyes. He peered closer at them, finding traces of bright blues accenting the navy that filled the pool surrounding his pupils.

He shook his head and scowled, shutting the dresser door, unaware of how intimidating he appeared.

Silvio grabbed the clothes he'd placed on his bed and entered the bathroom to draw a bath for his master before leaving. And his master arrived soon after the bath was drawn.

He soaked in the tub for a long time, marveling at how all the amazing inventions of man now seemed to open to him. He washed and scrubbed away the dirt and grime from all over his body.

Once he was sure he was clean, he simply decided to relax in the soothing water, not caring that his filth and turned the water itself a nasty color. The water's heat surrounded and relaxed him and he sank deeper into the tub and his thoughts and plans.

An accomplice was exactly what he needed, and Belinda would more than serve as one. She seemed to be deeply informed with the inept police affairs and proved to be a trustworthy vessel for secrets. He could only hope that his tricks would work.

He began to form any and all possible outcomes until the water turned unpleasantly chilly. He rose from the tub and dried himself off. He found that he had to run another bath in order to wash out the dirt that stubbornly clung to the sides of the tub.

He then slipped into his new suit, finding it be a bit loose and quite comfortable, before crossing over into the bedroom and slipped into the new shoes he'd bought. He was glad that they fit him well, too.

He glided over to the dresser and opened it to study himself in the mirror once again. He was shocked at the face that now looked back at him.

The dirt and grime was washed away to show a clean neck and face. A bigger, rounder, yet still sharp nose stuck out at him. With the dirt washed away, he found that his nose wasn't as horrid as before. His cheekbones, the dirt disappeared, now appearing to be sharper, complimenting his nose. His blond eyebrows matched his clean blond hair as they framed the face with his brilliant blue eyes.

He was amazed. He looked clean and neat for once. He scratched his head. He just needed to do something about that hair.

* * *

Next chapter'll be super short, but after that _c l e a n s e _might be updated again. Anyway, up in the next chapter we get away from Silvio to go to Belinda as Silvio makes his final touches to his transistion. Not much else for me to say, so thanks for reading and review!

Chantal


	8. Word Disassociation

: The Missing Frame :

.Word Disassociation.

Nobody knew who she truly was. They never could connect the dots to her true identity, for all the world knew she could be the love child of royalty. She never spoke of her real self, just the one she decided to make up.

Her family was wealthy, yes, but they were known far and wide for their greed. She never wanted to associate herself with such a family where material possessions seemed more of value than life's purest gifts. They were blessed with a daughter, but they did not care for her, and she in turn did not care for them.

In fact, she actually cared more for the housemaid that had brought her up than anyone else. She was lucky to have such a companion as the maid had the heart of an angel and it had rubbed its gold onto hers.

Her pureness among her tainted family did not suit her and she whisked herself away and out of that life. She found herself a new one, yet no one seemed to realize who she really was. All they saw was a simple landlady renting rooms to the first people who would take them, whether their hearts be candy or coal.

It did not matter to her, as long as she made some money to live. She didn't dare go back to her family to ask for money. She despised the very thought of it. She wanted to make her own life, and maybe, just maybe, one day she might be every bit successful as those before her. She dreamed of living the rich life again, but only on her own terms.

Yet, the matter of how she was to go about this mystified her if she was to be confined as a mere landlady. But as fate would have it, a landlady she was to stay until he came along.

She wrinkled her nose at the package that lay before her. Many jewels – expensive and stolen – lay in the brown paper on her bed, and the attached note in her hand. Sighing, she sat down on her bed, causing the mattress to sink beneath her weight and the jewels to slide towards her.

_- Thought you'd might need a little something more._

"A little something more…"

A little more money from stolen goods, the thought made her grin excitedly. Here her family was, in with the business of the law and she'll soon be pawning off stolen items. Such defiance would not settle for a simple grin, instead she soon found herself laughing mischievously aloud.

Her family was always at the head of the police force, but for years, suspicions were rising about how honest they really were. She knew the truth, they were not. With such brand new thoughts in her manic head, she figured she did have that dishonest trait in her. Her family had stolen their wealth, not earned it.

Funny how things turn out. She wanted to be different, but now, there is no such case. Slipping the jewels in a small bag, she skipped out her apartment door gleefully.

She'd be doing what her family had done, but she would do it with a little outside help. With the help of a thief by the name of Silvio.

Sure, he'd disappeared. She knew she would find him, and when Belinda knew she was going to do something, she would do it.

* * *

Ha-ha! I updated! I'm not sure how fast any other updates will be made. It looks like _Bad Habit_ is on hold. XP I'll write more whenever, and the next chapter will definitely be longer than this (I hope). All right, thanks for reading and review! I vamoose!

Chantal


	9. Dirty Business

: The Missing Frame :

.Dirty Business.

He was amazed and impressed. She proved to be far more useful than he ever imagined. He felt lucky to be on such good terms with such an intelligent – and beautiful – woman. She was also mysterious. She only had to work a little magic and with the snap of her fingers, she could tell him endless valuable words.

"Might I ask how you found me here?" he asked her, an eyebrow raised with suspicion.

Her rosy lips jerked into a mischievous smirk. "You can, but I won't tell."

He snorted with amusement. "I suppose I should just say that you have your sources and I'd be wise to keep my nose out of it."

"Exactly," she said, setting down her glass of wine on the table in between them. "Would you like to hear something funny, my dear?" she asked. Her response was a simple shrug and she continued. "When I arrived here, I asked for a Silvio and I found that he was working for a certain Link Sherwood. See, they thought I was working for you as well."

"You knew, didn't you?" he questioned, scratching his head.

"Knew what?" she responded innocently. "That Silvio is gone? Never to reappear, as his master has taken his place? Well then, I'll be damned if I didn't know," she sneered, relaxing in the armchair she sat in. "Like you said, I have my sources."

"Good ones," he commented, taking a sip of his wine.

The two fell into a companionable silence. The woman studied the room with great interest as the man watched her closely. His brow furrowed as he fell deep into thought, a battle raging in his head. He had a decision to make, and now was the time to use one of the choices.

He sighed and took the plunge. "Belinda, you and I both know what we'd like to have, right?" Her attention was turned back to him, and she gave him a slight nod. "We've known each other for years, and I'd like to have you as an accomplice."

"Partners, eh?" she mused, taking her wine and drinking deeply.

"That's right. You know my secrets, why should I bother entrusting them to anyone else? To me, your skills are extremely valuable in this business."

"This isn't any ordinary business either." She spoke softly, her breath fogging the rim of the glass and she drank some more until her glass was half empty. "You know what it is? It's dirty business." This time, she spoke louder and her voice was far stronger in tone than before as she slammed her glass back onto the table. Rich red wine sloshed over the rim and onto the table along with little droplets onto the rug below, staining it.

" 'Dirty business' indeed," he agreed. "But does not such filth work well with us?" he inquired, a small smile on his face.

"I suppose so," she said, now grinning as well. "I knew this day was coming. The day I'd turn out just like the rest of my family."

" 'The rest of your family'?"

"Ayuh," Belinda said simply. "Listen up, Silvio – or I suppose I really should say Link. You know that the Harkinans have been at the head of the police force here for decades now, right?"

Link nodded in response. He wasn't looking at her now, instead he was giving his visual attention to the wine moving around in his glass gracefully, but Belinda knew that he was listening closely and carefully to her.

"You can say that we're some of the more sneaky snakes in the garden. For years now, the government has been suspicious of my family stealing their wealth. I'm actually not sure how we've been doing it, but we have. When I found out, I decided that I was going to work for my wealth rather than steal it in such a way. In the end, I guess I'm stuck doing what others before me have done."

She reached for her wine again and drank what was left.

"Bastards. All of them," she cursed. "If I never detached myself from them, then I wouldn't be living a poor life. I didn't like my old life. I wanted to disappear, and I did… sort of. I wasn't fond of my old life, and I'm not fond of the one I'm currently living."

Link looked up at her, studying her soft, glassy gaze.

"Can you go back?"

Belinda looked up at Link with genuine surprise on her face. He was now looking at her in a stern and serious matter.

"What? Go back?" she repeated.

"Go back to your old life. The one you had before you were a landlady. The one with the Harkinans," Link told her. "The way I figure it is that if you go back, then you can be even closer to the police. This way, you can monitor them up close and personal. It'll be of great importance."

Belinda stared up at the white plaster ceiling, contemplating the idea. She never wanted to go back to the Harkinans, especially when it came to money. But it was witty. She could work for her father, get close to him again and maybe even solve the mystery of how her family stole their wealth as she stole hers.

"I think," she began carefully, "that it's a clever idea. Though I'm not eager to go back to my family, I feel as if I'll be depending on them again. I suppose the brighter side of it is that if I go back, I can breathe easily again financially."

"Sounds like a plan." Link smiled and placed his now empty glass on the table with Belinda's as she rose gracefully from the armchair. He stood up from the sofa where he sat and followed her to the door and opening it for her.

"You know, it might not be bad for you to get in with upper class now, too," she winked before standing on the tip of her toes and planting a swift kiss on his cheek.

Stunned by her affection, he watched her disappear down the hotel hallway. Slowly and shakily, Link closed the door to his room and flopped down on the sofa in thought.

* * *

Yeah, I'm finally back. Although, I think this may be the last story I complete, I'm not sure at the moment. I don't know if I will finish any others I may have in progress, but I will be leaving. This past year, I have had a lot of duties come up with helping my friends and focusing on music. So this one more good-bye until the final one. I'll get started on the next few chapters, and I'll see you guys later!


	10. Dominance

: The Missing Frame :

.Dominance.

It was but two weeks later Link Sherwood had finally gotten wind that Belinda, the sneaky witch, had dyed her hair to a deep auburn and managed to wriggle her way back into her father's arms. Happy to have her back, he showered her with gifts and love – all of which, Belinda saw to be a façade. Belinda Harkinan was now assisting the police, and Link was certain things couldn't be better.

Well, save for one thing. Ruto.

Since he grew more accustomed to living in the hotel, Link learned the ins and outs of the place. He no longer stayed in his dumpy apartment for Belinda had sold the buildings. He hadn't expected this, and grudgingly allowed the pretty girl to board with him – as scandalous as it was. Although, no one seemed to really take note of this living arrangement, much to his glee.

Through his days at the hotel, he spent much time conversing with other guests and the staff. The brunette whom he had first spoken with at the front desk on the day of his arrival was a strange character in his book. Her name was Anju, the wife of the hotel owner, Kafei, and he quickly noted that any for shortcomings and disappointments she was quick to apologize for – even when it was of no fault to her or anyone for that matter. He took mental note of this characteristic of hers for future use, if ever he needed.

When he found himself with no one to engage in conversation, which he tried to do quite often to avoid the consequence, for another long term guest, Ruto, would sidle up to his side and give him a lustful smile that made him sick to his stomach. Link loathed the girl with as much passion as she was infatuated with him. He found no use in any of the girl's skills or traits – if any – and simply found her to be a thorn in his side.

He often sought Belinda's brutish company, to no avail as she was busy with police affairs and their relationship was at a stalemate. She merely reported back to him the day's work and not even a sign that a friendship existed between them was shown. Link was slightly disappointed and was quite sour in his friend's newfound lack of interest in his company. With her presence missing, Ruto tried very hard to gain his attention and affection, which only sickened him.

Link's sour and spiteful mood took a turn when Belinda burst through the hotel door one evening, a sly smile stretched across her face. Curious, Link excitedly inquired what news she'd had. "Good news indeed, my friend," Belinda exclaimed. She slinked up to his seat on the sofa where he was drinking and plopped herself down next to him in a very appalling fashion for a lady. "Listen up now, as I'll only tell you this once. You're a smart boy, you can remember this." He loved her voice when it dripped with this sweet honey. "My father was talking about some stake-outs because of all the raiding that's been going on. However, I was down in the pub earlier grabbing a drink of gin, and this one drunk came over trying to court me. His friends soon joined in, but they lost interest in me and started talking about the raids.

"Link, you and I both know we're not the only ones operating in this area. There's someone else and they're imposing on our territory."

Link snorted, trying to hold back his snickers. "The drunks start giving names?" he laughed in disbelief.

Belinda giggled and clapped her hands. "The fools!" she laughed. "But I think they were legit."

"You bluff!"

"I fib not." She said this with a quiet certainty which made him cease his laughter.

Belinda leaned in, like a little child confiding one of her most deepest secrets to a friend. "They're saying that it's this man, Dragmire – Gannondorf Dragmire - who's behind it all. Everything. Even the charade we've been pulling. Do you get what I am telling you?"

Link sat there in disbelief. If indeed this man was taking credit where it was not due, he was the perfect scapegoat. A temporary one, but it would indeed expand their territory and control if Gannondorf was out of the picture. The next step was to devise the plan to do just that.

"Let me guess, you've already figured out how to remove him?"

The woman merely stretched her mouth into that wicked smile of guile that Link Sherwood marked as her trademark. She had something nasty in mind. "I hear he's got a soft spot for the ladies."

Swishing the scotch in the glass he held, he said in a serious tone, "Well, to be honest, Belinda Harkinan, I'm none too sure of how good I look in a dress. Something must be done about this gut I have; I'm much too thick for anyone to find me attractive and I tell you right now, no corset could fix this lack of a figure."

Belinda reeled with laughter and slapped his forearm, but did not remover her hand. Link shifted uncomfortably with this show of closeness and affection. "How very inappropriate for you to be so close, mademoiselle," he commented.

She snorted. "You know very well that I do not necessarily play by any rules – social, governmental or otherwise."

"I feel violated," he stated flatly, taking a swig of the scotch in his hand. "Something is wrong with this picture."

Laughing, Belinda responded, "Usually it is the other way around." Dramatically, she placed the back of her hand on her forehead and feigned shock, "Oh dear! My good sir! You've come much too close for comfort!"

"Enough silly games, we are not children."

Regaining her composure, Belinda leaned back on the sofa. "Really though, dearest, women love that shit." He couldn't help but smirk. He loved Belinda's unconventional ways and her foul mouth. "Get too close, too personal, and too affectionate and they'll adore you for life."

He filed that into his memory before take a final swig of his scotch.

_Get too close, too personal, and too affectionate and they'll adore you for life._

She was brilliant. Belinda was more than his perfect partner in crime. She knew exactly what to do and when to do it and it baffled him sometimes the way she thought. To his pleasant surprise, he'd found that she often was able to plan strategies with far more diligence and attention to detail than he ever could. Link was quite pleased with his choice of an accomplice. How would they ever get caught with minds such as theirs?

"Surely you have a clue as to how to pull this stunt off? Even a harlot's screechings can be heard," he inquired.

His response was a confident challenge. "Indeed I do. Just you watch."

And she did just so.

Belinda possessed a smooth guile, and a talent to work with what she had. It wasn't hard for her to learn of Gannondorf's whereabouts while dear Link Sherwood was now at the mercy of the wretched Ruto.

Belinda stood as a whore on the street corner, scouting for the man known as Gannondorf Dragmire. The hiss of gas from the streets echoed through the filthy streets as she stood by a bar. Every now and then men would pass her by and sneer at her with desire; until finally she saw the man that fit the description she was given.

Gannondorf Dragmire stumbled out of the bar, not yet intoxicated, but quite tipsy. Grinning, she slinked towards him and began to work her magic where he unwittingly fell into her trap of sexual desire before everything went black.

He never knew quite what was going on until the next morning when he awoke in an alley with dried blood caked on his forehead and a note pinned to the inside of his jacket. The note simply read for places that were vulnerable to theft. Ecstatic, Dragmire pulled himself together and left the alley to meet with his accomplice for they had work to do later in the evening that would not be known until the next.

To celebrate Belinda's victory posing as a harlot, she and Sherwood shared a bottle in their hotel room, laughing gaily of the matter. The two had not only just soiled the hands of others and cleaned their own (with filthy water), but Belinda had managed to gull others into their dirty business.

The wine they shared never tasted as sweet as it did while they looked upon the paper with news of the thefts. Dragmire's sloppy work would soon leave the police a trail to follow like the dogs they were.

Belinda barked a haughty laughter at Dragmire's misfortune and her own guile. "Whisper sweet nothings into any drunk's ear and they're your lap dog!" She reeled in her gales of poisonous laughter.

His own laughter subsiding from the disbelief that Dragmire was so foolish to even consider, let alone go through with what the note Belinda had left him. The note had detailed where and when police had left an area without patrol and vulnerable. The note could have been a fake, setting him up for arrest, yet alas the man was so baffling dumb, he went ahead with it. It was truly an amazing thing, but then again, Belinda did hear from the drunkards at the bar that Dragmire was indeed a gullible idiot and a downright fool.

"When will you tip off your father about Dragmire?" Link asked Belinda as their glasses clinked together in yet another toast.

Taking a sip of wine, she responded, "In a few days. If I say anything tomorrow, someone might get suspicious that something queer is happening. I'd rather keep my appearance as clean as I can. But! Until then, dearest, cheers!"

Belinda Harkinan then proceeded to take a deep swig of the wine. Little red streaks of the blood liquid slipped out of her mouth and down her chin. She snickered at her sloppiness and wiped it away with the back of her hand.

The days passed with little to no interesting news. Of course Gannondorf continued to operate in the area, but Belinda and Link paid no attention to the man's charades. Link's main focus was trying to occupy his time and get away from the accursed Ruto while Belinda was gone away to work assisting her father. Though the day they'd picked out on their celebration night was fast approaching.

Link had gotten wind from servants and the barmen of Dragmire's usual routine and it didn't take him long to find where Gannondorf Dragmire laid low in the city. It was a filthy section and Link savagely thought of how the area was more suited for not a man such as himself, but Silvio. He took mental note of the path that he took there and turned around.

It took him twice as long to get back to the hotel as it did to follow Dragmire his quarters as Link took many detours – just in case. Now all he had to do was lay low with Belinda until the day came.

When it finally did, Link was excited. He was of no use until this day, and it sparked him to think that today was the day when things picked up again. Giddy, he saw Belinda off for the first time, leaving an enraged Ruto whom he quickly avoided.

Link slipped back up into his rooms and waited until the afternoon before he pulled out Silvio's filthy clothes that reeked of something foul. He changed from his gentlemen wear into the worn clothing and looked himself over in the mirror. While he was dressed shabbily, there was no way that clean skin and hair could not go unnoticed in the dirt and grime. So Link sauntered over to the fireplace and kneeled down. He ran his hands through the dirt and ashes, and then rubbed his hands on his face, neck and hair.

Dirtied, he looked over into the mirror and left the room for the first time as a shabby servant. Taking the back entrance of the hotel, Silvio slipped out and slinked across the streets to head towards a pub for a meal. He listened in on the men drinking, but to his disappointment, heard nothing worth his attention.

He finished his meal just as a fight over a card game broke out. Taking the chance, Silvio disappeared from the pub as if he'd performed an illusion of escapology. He hurried through winding streets and alleys, wondering if anyone noticed he had skipped out on his bill. Entering the street Dragmire resided, Silvio slowed his walk and began to loiter around the street and the adjacent streets. No one seemed to take notice or mind of him. They were too preoccupied with their own affairs to see a scrappy young man of twenty-one.

Silvio watched as Dragmire angrily brushed passed him. A woman with long red hair that gleamed like fire in the afternoon sun followed behind him. Silvio watched the two bicker as they made their way down the street. From talk in the pubs, Silvio figured that the woman must have been his accomplice, Nabooru. Their heated argument could be heard a block away and Silvio began to question Belinda's motives and if their plan could be severely flawed by this man.

Alas, it was far too late, Silvio figured, to turn back now. He was too close, and he trusted the cunning woman even if she was someone that could make or break him. Silvio waited around the area for a while longer, drifting and disappearing through alley ways until he made his way to the alley next to Dragmire's quarters.

Watchful of anyone who might see him in the late afternoon, Silvio silently and artfully opened a window from a top a trash can that gave him leverage. He took one last glance around before Silvio pulled himself through the opening. He quickly shut the window and looked around.

He was in a small kitchen. Pots, pans and dirtied silverware and plates piled in a small wash bin by another window. A small table sat in the corner, where Dragmire stupidly left some of the rare gems he'd stolen. Silvio snatched up the gems and slipped them into his pocket while he wandered the apartment searching for any others.

Ganondorf Dragmire was obviously not the wittiest of men and the wit must have lied with Nabooru in order to pull off any of those heists for the gems. Silvio sneered at the thought of Dragmire. He didn't like the man and he'd never even spoken a word to him. All Silvio knew was that the man was a narcissistic bard who talked big but never delivered.

With his pockets full of gems and money, Silvio wandered out of the building. No one took notice of him and he was perfectly inconspicuous. He felt a little disheartened to leave a generous amount of the gems behind, but it was necessary. Evidence was needed.

When he finally arrived back to the hotel, he took the back entrance once more and headed to his room. Once inside, he hid the stolen goods and proceeded to strip himself and draw a bath.

By the time Belinda arrived back at the hotel, Link was already back, Silvio gone and they celebrated yet another success with a bottle of wine. Both could hardly wait for the news to come the next day when word would spread of how the police were tipped off by an anonymous source that Ganondorf Dragmire and his accomplice were found with stolen goods in their apartments and responsible for the series of theft around the city. Of course Ganondorf and Nabooru would be taking credit where it was not due, but it covered some tracks and Link and Belinda were perfectly satisfied with that.

Within the week, Link and Belinda, dressed in their best clothing made their way to the courts where justice was supposedly served. People, seeing that they were high-class, parted to allow them to make their way to the front to see. This astounded Link, but when he looked over at the woman on his arm, she seemed not to notice. Link quickly remembered that she grew up as an aristocrat, unlike himself and quickly focused on the men on a platform high above the crowd. Link and Belinda watched as the guilty party was brought out onto the platform.

There, Link watched as Ganondorf and Nabooru gave one last dance for his, Belinda's and their own sins. The crowd roared with cheers when the executioner announced of their parting from the living world.

Looking around, Link couldn't help but feel a soft spot in his heart for he knew that these people thought that the terror of his crimes were finally over, when in reality, they were only about to magnify.

No one ever said living wasn't expensive.

* * *

Long chapter there, woo… Anyway, looking back on my plans it seems that there will be about three more chapters all quite lengthy unless I choose to cut them up a bit and rearrange. Ruto will be interacted with more and some new faces will appear in the coming chapter. Until then, thanks for reading and laters!

Chantal


	11. Ruto's Proposal

: The Missing Frame :

-Ruto's Proposal-

"Alas! dearest Belinda, I believe that I'm feeling a bit guilty."

"Guilty?" she inquired. "Why so?"

"I'm afraid that wretched execution has gotten to me," he sneered and pushed his meal away from him. The very thought of the hanging was making his stomach churn. The event had certainly eliminated his biggest competition, but it left him moonstruck at times for he could not help but feel melancholy and shameful that he'd sacrificed two lives for his own gain.

His leg pulsed beneath the pant leg. _Reckless_.

Link shook his head as if to rid it of the memories and shake the feelings away. Of course it did nothing and he was about to lose himself in his reveries again when Belinda piped up. "Oh Sherwood! did you know about what those silly Americans are doing?" Upon the shake of his head, Belinda continued. "It seems they're trying to out-do the French and host their own exposition. They've decided that Chicago will host; they've already started construction."

"What's the fair for?" Link questioned, obviously confused.

Sipping the last of the wine in her glass while Link quickly scanned the hotel's dining room for any sign of Ruto, Belinda set the glass down and began to poke at her own meal with her fork. "They're hosting this fair for the 300th anniversary of Columbus' discovery of America. Of course the date is much too soon to complete the building of the fair in the next year, but they've decided on having a dedication day - sort of like a preview of the exposition; the fair is supposed to officially open some time in '93."

"Why do we all say that Columbus discovered America?" Link suddenly blurted out. Belinda merely shrugged, still focusing on playing with her food like an insolent child. "Because really," he continued, "it's not like he really discovered anything. There were _natives_; if the whole continent where uninhabited, then Columbus really would have discovered the New World," Link spat. "Technically, the natives would have discovered it."

Pushing her plate forward as well, Belinda leaned forward and said, "Come on, let's just go. I'm not hungry either." Link nodded, stood up and escorted Belinda out of the dining room. Strolling through the lobby, Belinda spoke up, "Really though, that's actually a clever thought. I honestly don't know why we all say that." And then she fell silent.

Link glanced downwards at her as they climbed the staircase together. Her nose was raised in the air in proper posture, he assumed, but yet her eyes were not focused on what was ahead of her; her eyes were downcast and mouth was a thin line across her face. She looked years older; the dye in her hair had faded and blended well with her blond roots, but it looked as if she was graying already.

Gazing ahead, Link sighed and spoke gentler, "Let me take a guess: You'd like me to take you to Chicago for the fair?" He looked over again to see her eyes light up and her mouth stretched wide in a smile as she gasped excitedly, "Really? Do you mean that?"

Suppressing a groan, he said shortly, "Maybe, and I mean maybe." But the grin did not slip from Belinda's face as they both knew that he eventually would take her across the sea to Chicago. "Christ! I'll be twenty-four by the time it opens! Belinda, I'm getting up there in years; I'm too old to go." He couldn't help but smile when her warm laughter echoed in the hall.

Pleasing Belinda was one thing, but pleasing Ruto was another. Despite his efforts his fellow long-term guest had cornered him the morning after promising to take Belinda to Chicago. The raven-haired girl spoke to him in a voice that was so supersaturated with sweetness that it almost made him physically ill on the spot, distracting him from what she'd just asked. "I'm sorry?"

He felt his gut lurch as she laughed as if his deafness was just a charade. "I asked if you would like to accompany me to the opera next week."

Astonished, Link found himself speechless. "Give me a little while to check into my affairs and I'll have my answer by dinner. Good day." And he promptly turned and left Ruto standing alone in the lobby as he made his way back to his room.

"Belinda!" he called as he burst through the door. Link found her lounging on the sofa reading; she snapped the book shut and sat upright to give him a seat on the sofa but he did not take it. She delicately placed the book on the centre table and said, "What?"

"That accursed Ruto just cornered me in- Don't roll your eyes at me! Anyhow, Ruto asked if I'd accompany her to the opera." He said this quickly and frantically as she simply stared at him from below on the sofa.

"And you tell me this why?"

"I've never been to the opera!" he cried, almost exasperated.

"Oh, alright," Belinda said calmly. She sighed and rose from the sofa and glided over to his amour in the bedroom. "What are you planning to wear?" she asked as she opened the doors and began to sift through his clothes and belongings.

His brow furrowed and a twinge of annoyance hit him as he watched her go through his belongings. "Who says I'm going, and what're going through there for?"

"Well we have to find you something to wear, don't we?" she snapped. "Besides, you should go. The opera is wonderful, you really ought to get out and enjoy yourself dearest." She sneered as went through the last of his clothes. "None of this will do," Belinda muttered.

"What's wrong with what I have?"

"None of it is suited for the opera."

"Belinda," he moaned, "why can't I just wear some pants and a jacket or something?" In a split second it happened and a tingling and stinging sensation began to erupt on the left side of his face. He felt his jaw go slack in his shock. Dumbfounded, he asked as Belinda closed the doors to the amour, "D-did you just slap me?"

"Yes. Need me to do it again?"

He gave no response.

"Now if you're going to go to the opera, we're going to have to get you some suitable dress clothes. Oh! and a new hat would be good as well," she trailed as she swiftly went to grab her coat. She was halfway out the door before she turned around and snapped, "Well are you coming?"

Grabbing his own coat, Sherwood obliged and sauntered out after her.

They arrived at the tailor whom Link had gotten his first clothes from. They entered the shop bickering with whispered voices. Saria was not behind the counter again, and Belinda tapped the bell, their argument going uninterrupted until the tailor's footsteps were heard.

Wanting to get the last word in, Link leaned over and whispered quite fiercely, "If I am going to the opera, you are coming with so I am not alone with that girl!"

"Fine!"

The tailor appeared, and greeted them with a warm smile. Sherwood forced Belinda to have her measurements taken, after which Belinda exited the shop to go to a hatter's shop close by while Link had his measurements retaken.

Running her measuring tape around his chest, the tailor made light conversation with him. "What're you looking for today?"

"I had told my friend that I had been invited to the opera, and she deemed none of my clothes suited for it."

"Ah, I hear the latest show has been lovely, I think you'll like it. Did you see the previous one?" she inquired as she wrote down a number on a slip of paper.

"No, I did not." And he fell quiet before asking, "May I tell you something of a secret?"

"Of course," Saria replied. He liked the tailor and had come to give her a little trust.

"I've never been to the opera before."

Surprise quickly scrawled across her face. "Really now? You've never gone?" she asked in astonishment, and he nodded in response. "Don't worry, it's fascinating, and the opera house is simply breathtaking! Might I ask why you had me take your friend's measurements?" she asked as she wrote down the last number and began to roll up her tape.

Link chuckled a little. "I didn't want to be alone, so she's coming with me."

He was surprised to learn that he was a tad smaller than before; he'd lost weight rather than gained. The tailor had kept his old measurements and upon his request, agreed to use the old ones.

"A new suit and dress it is," the tailor confirmed. "Fret not; I'll have them done in time, Mr. Sherwood." Link nodded, and bid her a good day before exiting the shop.

Just as the closed shut behind him, Link saw Belinda strolling purposefully toward him, a package in her hand. She handed it to him and steered him down the street saying, "Let's go to a café for tea." Link Sherwood sighed and trotted along as Belinda tugged on his arm.

Upon their arrival back at the hotel, Link sought out Ruto as Belinda slipped up the stairs and towards their room. It didn't take him long to find her, and it never did. He agreed to accompany her, and slyly slipped in his one condition.

"A friend?" she asked, clearly uncertain about the request. "Who's your friend?"

"Ah…" He didn't think too far ahead about his encounter with Ruto. His mind turning for a new name, he felt very conspicuous when he blurted out, "Her name is Zelda."

Her mouth slipped downward. She was not pleased that his friend happened to be a woman. "Zelda?" she repeated. "Is she that brunette that is often in your company?"

"Oh! no, no. Not at all!"

Not wanting to miss her chance at spending some time with him, Ruto grudgingly agreed to his request and promised that she'd get another ticket for "Zelda".

Cursing, Link slinked away from her to hurry to his quarters. It only took Belinda one look at him to know Ruto had shaken him. "What did you do?" she accused.

"I lied," he said simply, and poured himself a drink from the bar.

"So? You and I, dearest, are probably the biggest liars in on this earth!"

"Is there any way you can get the rest of that wretched dye out of your hair? I actually quite miss the blonde," Link suggested to her.

Belinda's right eyebrow rose up in inquiry. "What did you do?" she repeated.

Swallowing his drink, Link confessed, "Well, I asked her if I could bring my friend Zelda along, and she asked if it was you and I said that it wasn't. Besides, you look completely different with this brown hair, and it makes you look a decade older." He mentally kicked himself, shut his mouth immediately and took a large sip of the scotch in his hand.

Belinda lifted a lock of her hair, and shrugged. "I suppose it does. I do need a new persona anyhow, don't I? Yes, it's time for Belinda to vanish like poor Silvio." Surprised that she didn't slap him right then and there, Link gagged a little on the alcohol in his throat. He choked it down and stared at the woman. "You do know that this means that we will no longer have a regular income?"

"Yes," he breathed.

"Alright then!" she said cheerily. "I'll tell my father that I'll be off to study abroad in the 'morrow."

She slid off into the bedroom like a ghost chanting merrily, "The opera! The opera!"

Link's stomach lurched from the alcohol. He felt his leg pulse again and he sat down.

Such a strange woman; what was he to do?

* * *

I went back into my plans and I extended the plot by giving the story a clearer date now - 1891 sounds to be right - and getting more historic, which I didn't really intend to do when I started. So once again, I pull our world into a story. Lots of history geekness on my part to come with the World's Fair, and more chapters than the original intent of thirteen. Alrighty, thanks for reading, later! 

Chantal


	12. The Opera

: The Missing Frame :

-The Opera-

"Honestly!" she cried, making a grab for his head as he tried to squirm away from her. "We're going to the opera," she declared, "and I'd really appreciate it, and I think Ruto would too, if you did something about your own awful hair." She pinned him down onto the sofa of the hotel room and began attempting to groom his shaggy hair. "Link, you really ought to cut it," she said flatly.

Link stared blankly at the dirty blonde trying to make sense of his wild hair. "I'd prefer not to," he said as he mimicked her tone. He snarled as she continued to uncomfortably fuss with his hair until she finally gave it up halfway.

"Fine then," she growled. "The least you can do is now is tie it back." She got up and swiftly disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a hat and jacket and handed them to him. He put on the jacket and fiddled with his new hat as the blonde woman pulled and tied his hair back.

_Fwip._

Link was especially fascinated with the hat for some unknown reason and was content to be mesmerized by it.

_Pop._

"Come now," the woman commanded as she steer him towards the door to the hall. "Let's try and beat Ruto to the lobby." He wasn't really listening to her, but obliged anyway as she pulled him along.

_Fwip._

_Pop._

_Fwip._

When the staircase in view, she had had enough and snatched his hat from his hands and opened up the collapsible hat again as they reached the top of the stairs.

_Pop._

"Hold on to it, and please refrain from messing with it, or the sound shall drive me mad," she begged him, and handed the hat back to him, and sighing, he admitted defeat and resigned from playing with it as they sat down to wait for Ruto in the lobby.

The two didn't have to wait very long before Ruto herself appeared at the top of the stairs. They rose from their seats and walked over to greet her as she approached the bottom steps.

"Good Evening, Ruto," Link politely greeted her, and he took her hand and lightly kissed it. Ruto giggled slightly. Belinda was right after all – _Get too close, too personal and too affectionate and they'll adore you for life._ "Ruto, I'd like you to meet my friend Zelda," Link introduced, and indicated the dirty blonde woman next to him.

"Pleasure to meet you," Ruto gritted through her teeth and gave her the coldest glare she muster, but was only greeted in return by the blonde's stern and determined gaze.

Calmly, Zelda responded, "Same to you. Have you been well?" She asked this to make light conversation and to hopefully ease the stress she knew they were inflicting upon their companion.

"Yes, quite." Ruto said this curtly and quickly before gravitating towards Link as the trio moved out of the lobby and onto the street. Hailing the nearest cabbie, Link assisted both the ladies into the carriage after quickly slapping his hat on his head and - much to Ruto's disgust - took a seat next to Zelda.

The party took a reprieve from their strained conversation upon the arrival of the opera house. Link exited the carriage first, and helped the two women out of the carriage. Zelda and Ruto waited patiently on the walk as Link paid the cabbie driver and bade him a good evening before turning to look at the opera house.

The tiny tailor Saria had been right as well – the opera house was indeed magnificent. Men and women filtered in and out of the entrance way under a canopy of stone with large, wide pillars supporting it from underneath. Intricate neoclassical designs and architecture adorned the stone building, and it awed him.

Zelda beckoned him as they made their way up the steps to the entrance of the white building. Somewhat moonstruck by the building, Link, for some odd reason, counted twenty-four shallow steps of approximately five inches high and a foot and a quarter deep until they reached the landing under the stone canopy. He then counted twenty-six paces until they passed through the opera house's threshold and were engulfed in warmth away from the chilly autumn air.

While he was astounded by the artistic bent presented on the outside of the building, inside it was more intricately decorated and far more colorful. The grand staircase adorned with red carpet spilled downward from a large landing in the back of the main foyer and then split off in two separate directions around a large fountain with statues polished so the bronze gleamed. A fountain! Indoors! He could hardly believe it.

Link was too busy marveling at the atmosphere around him and watching as people dressed very formally passed and moved around him in a blur that he was only pulled out of his reverie when Zelda softly grabbed his arm to get his attention. He felt somewhat like a giddy child as he, Ruto and Zelda followed a young man who was to lead them to their seats up the staircase. They took a right at the top and walked purposefully down the hall together and into a stairwell that led them into another hallway where the man leading them to their seats quickly darted to the left. Link jogged a little from his slow pace to catch up with Ruto and Zelda as they trooped down the many doors where people filed in and out, hurrying as they go. The hall abruptly cut to the right and the man motioned with his left hand the first door on the right.

He wished them an enjoyable evening before softly closing the door to the box behind them as they seated themselves. Zelda on the far right seat of the box, and Ruto, not wanting to sit next to her, sat on the far left. Silently cursing, Link took his hat off, collapsed it as he sat down in the middle seat and placed it underneath.

The three companions chatted idly as they waited for the curtains to rise, and already the theatre was fairly dark, but echoed with the rest of the opera house with the voices of the other guests as they searched for their seats in the dim light. Leaning a little forward, Link could see a dark pit below the stage with spots of flickering light and the movement of people in the pit where random, disheveled sound flittered through the air. Zelda, noticing his curiosity leaned over to whisper in his ear, "The orchestra." He nodded, still content to watch the musicians; he was somewhat mesmerized by one violinist as watched the man swiftly and diligently fingered notes on the strings, yet his bow rested upright in his hand on his right thigh.

Resting back in his seat, he waited as Ruto tried fruitlessly to strike conversation with him. He was eager for the opera to start, and looked on as the last of the people poured in from under the balcony and into the seats below; the orchestra long had been quieted from their racket.

He was soon suddenly startled by a deep boom from the pit; the orchestra began to play and the curtains slowly rolled back. Link could hear the gentle, soft sound as violins and violas began to play smooth arpeggios. Somewhere in the pit, bells began to twinkle as the sound of cellos swiftly dominated the movement. He was so taken by the colorfully complex music that filtered into his ears that he scarcely noticed the woman that wandered out onto the stage until her voice joined the orchestra in such a powerful way that he was taken aback.

The beauty of the opera quickly engulfed him in the flurry of it, and while he could not understand what was sung, the emotion and drive of the opera impacted him with such gravity and Link Sherwood was completely engrossed.

And as suddenly as it started it seemed, the curtain closed and the people clapped. Link joined with them, but utterly confused. It couldn't have been that short, could it? Surely that was not the end of the show?

He felt the warmth of a hand on his right forearm again and he turned towards the blonde next to him. "Come," Zelda said. "We can get something to drink if you'd like." She spoke so gently, that he momentarily forgot his panic that the opera had ended, yet Ruto and Zelda had already risen from their seats, and he followed suit, but once Ruto had opened the door to the box, Link remembered his forgotten hat. "Don't worry about it," Zelda reassured him as she closed the door behind him. "It's not going anywhere, and we have a while to wander around now."

Still unsure of what was going on, Link leaned down and asked her, "Isn't it over though?"

The question made her mentally trip before she remembered that he'd never gone to an opera before. "Oh! no!" she exclaimed, and then quietly continued so Ruto wouldn't hear. "This is just the intermission, were you worried that it was over? Ah, Link, whatever shall I do with you?" she laughed. "Did you enjoy the first act?"

"Yes! it was indeed wonderful," he told her enthusiastically. "Beyond words!" He would have continued, but he presently saw the gleam of gold as it plopped to the ground. Distracted, he turned away from Zelda and Ruto and bent down to pick up the watch.

As soon as he'd risen, he felt an instinctive urge to pocket the watch, but instead he looked around for its owner. Believing he spotted the man, he politely tapped the man's shoulder and inquired, "Sir? Beg your pardon, but is this yours?"

Surprised, the man felt his pocket and learned that it held nothing, and so elated he took his possession back and thanked Link graciously before turning away and disappearing in the mass of bodies.

Looking around now, Link saw no sign of Ruto or Zelda and began to wander aimlessly through the crowd. Beginning to panic at the loss of his companions in this strange place, he accidentally walked straight into another man. Link was fast to apologize to the large, white-haired man, who only laughed gaily.

"Ah! that's all righ' Brother!" the man boomed, and clapped his hand on Link's shoulder and Link felt his buckled knees give out under the force. As Link regained his balance, the man held out his hand and said, "My name's Darunia Brookeshor, what be yours lad?"

"It's Sherwood – Link Sherwood," Link told him and felt his hand being crushed by Brookeshor's phenomenal strength.

"I like ya' Link," Darunia chuckled, and putting his arm around Link's shoulder, he led Link away into the crowd. "What do you say? Let's get some drinks."

Unsure of how to handle this man's bubbling personality, he only managed to choke out, "Alright."

"Lovely opera so far, don't you think Brother?" Brookeshor rambled. "And the drama! it's had me on the edge of my seat!"

His eyebrows raised in curiosity, Link asked, "You can understand what they're saying?"

"Oh yes! Of course!" he laughed as they reached the bar. He waved the bartender over and said, "Evenin'! I'd like for you to get me and my friend here whatever you think is the best." Turning back to Link, he continued the conversation as if nothing fazed him, saying, "You speak French Brother?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't," Link confessed. "Although, I'm so drawn to the music of it that I think it could be in English and I still could not tell you the details of the plot."

Darunia laughed.

The bartender brought back the drinks, which Brookeshor paid handsomely for. The two merely spent the rest of the intermission loitering about in the upstairs lobby conversing with one another until Ruto and Zelda suddenly appeared at Link's side again.

"There you are!" Ruto exclaimed, getting so close in his personal space that Link felt almost suffocated by the girl. "Where have you been? We lost you back there."

"It would appear so," Link replied blandly, not feeling energetic to speak with her like he had with Brookeshor.

"Well come, come! Intermission's about to end," Ruto said sharply and began to try and herd him away from Brookeshor.

"Been a real pleasure meeting and talking with you, sir," Link said to Brookeshor as he felt a slight tug on the back of his jacket.

Digging into his own jacket pockets, Darunia Brookeshor produced a card and handed it to Link, saying, "Take this, and call me up sometime, Brother! I'll treat you!" Then Darunia Brookeshor momentarily made his exit in the crowd.

Link pocketed the card and followed the women back to the box where he sat down, eager for the opera to work its magic on his soul once more.

But it was not only the opera that touched him deeply that night, within the week Link had certainly followed up with Brookeshor's request and called him up. He was certainly glad to have done so, and thoroughly enjoyed the big man's company and vice versa.

The two men, unable to wrap up their conversation over lunch, continued it as they strolled about the streets. Just within the few hours they'd spent together, Link had already learned a significant amount about Darunia Brookeshor, and about business and finances.

Brookeshor was extremely wealthy; he had shares and trusts in the steel business, effectively monopolizing it, like Andrew Carnegie was doing over in America. Essentially, Link learned that the man he had run into dominated the steel industry with Carnegie in the Western World.

"You're not too big in business affairs, are ye' brother?" Darunia asked.

"No, I must say, I most certainly am not, especially considering that I'm in your presence."

Booming with his powerful laughter, Darunia went on, "See, Brother, you make these trusts so people won't know who really owns the company. If the general public were smarter, than the majority would realize that they're essentially buying from one company."

"But does that not make you a robber baron like Carnegie?"

"I suppose it does… Although robber barons are American," Brookeshor mused. "Society works in strange ways, Brother Link. You'll find that out someday, but for now, look at ye' lad! you're not yet twenty-two. This world is full of dirty business."

Link filed that away into his memory.

"Now then, Brother, you must tell me," the jolly man began, "who were those ladies you were with at the opera?"

Link laughed slightly to hide his embarrassment of Ruto, "Just my friend Zelda – she was the blonde - and another guest from the hotel I reside in, Ruto."

"Riiight," he said this as if he was momentarily moonstruck and distant before snapping back. "I must get to know her, this Zelda; she had this air about her that was just so grounding – kind of like you. I like people like that…"

Link found himself somewhat drained and lost for the moment in the elder's ramblings. He was able to catch in the man's quick monologue something about dinner, which he soon found himself at a table in a restaurant with Zelda to his right and Darunia across the table.

He swore. The people that he seemed to attract…

* * *

Ha-ha! Made it through the opera! So the plot is taking a big turn from the original plans, but the original plot seemed to have some strange things in it – like those puzzles you had when you were a kid where you matched the shapes; it was like trying to put the square piece into the circle imprint. Just didn't work. I like this new one better. Look forward to a somewhat major time skip in the next chapter and time to be awed by 19th century Chicago. Okay, not really, but you'll find that out if you don't know much about Chicago. Aight, thanks for reading, I'm outta here!

Chantal


	13. Chicago's Gloomy Sunday

: The Missing Frame :

-Chicago's Gloomy Sunday-

Link Sherwood shivered a little from the chill as a late summer breeze blew in. His shoulder was aching again and in an attempt to relieve himself of the pain, he pivoted around until he heard a series of cracks erupt from his spine. Normally it was only Link that heard the cracks, but today his companion surprisingly heard it as well through the commotion around them. Snickering at him in the late August sun, Darunia Brookeshor commented, "You know Brother, you really shouldn't crack your back."

The young man of twenty-three merely dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Old wives tale," he said simply, but Darunia only smiled and shook his head as a gunshot blasted through the summer air.

Nudging Link with his elbow, Darunia leaned over to his left, his eyes following the horses intently, and said to him, "I got a hundred and fifty pounds on number four." Link leaned over to get a better view of the track through the rows of people that sat in front of him and spotted the horse with the number four on it. "You got anything on one?" Darunia asked as they watched number four thunder around the track's curve in third place.

Link shook his head in response. "Best I don't," he said. "I need not waste my money when Zelda's been after me about Chicago."

"The World's Fair is opening in May and it closes next October."

"Don't remind me," he groaned. He didn't say it, but he didn't like the idea of going to the World's Columbian Exposition. "She's especially wound up about this rotating wheel idea."

A large boom of enthusiasm erupted from Link's right as the number four jockey sped his horse up and passed number six. Clapping his hands and laughing, Darunia continued the conversation, "Ah yes! I heard about it! Marvelous idea and I think the Americans will certainly surpass France's Eiffel Tower in that aspect if the wheel can be built. The exposition's is also supposed to use an alternating current, so the whole grounds are covered with electric light bulbs."

"An alternating current?"

"Indeed. It's a sight I would love to see myself, Brother." If Darunia said anything else, Link did not hear him for the crowd roared with cheer and disappointment as Darunia's bet raced in front of number two. The elderly man hollered and clapped excitedly as number four snagged first place.

Link was baffled by number four's win and spat in disbelief, "Bollocks! That's the second time to-day that you got first!"

Grinning, Darunia merely responded, "What can I say, Brother? I told ya' I felt lucky to-day."

Link shook his head and rose with Darunia as they left the stands for the box. Heading down the steps, Link lagged behind, and said as he skipped a few steps to catch up, "What was it you were saying about the fair before?"

"Oh, right! The World's Fair!" Darunia exclaimed as if their previous topic had been wiped completely clean from his memory. "What was it I was blabbering about?"

"Electricity."

"Right!"

"So about this alternating current…" Link's voice trailed off as they reach the line to the box. Frenzied men moved about like moths to a flame as Darunia began explaining. "The alternating current hasn't been used on a scale such as this before."

"Wasn't a direct current recommended though?" Link asked.

"Edison did recommend it, but the builders opted for the alternating current because of Westinghouse's cheaper price for electricity," Darunia said as they reached the window. Collecting his winnings, Darunia bade the man a good day and wandered towards the exit of the track.

"Done for the day?" Link asked fairly surprised. "What happened to feeling lucky?"

Darunia laughed. "I'm old, me lad!" he exclaimed. "I'd think by now I'd know when to quit." He clapped Link heartily on the shoulder as they wandered down the path towards the streets. "Really though, Brother, I think it'd be a real sight to see."

"Chicago?"

"Indeed. Can you imagine how lovely the night would be, and not mention how safe it would be to stroll about the boulevards at night by electric light? It would be magnificent! This industrial revolution of ours is truly an amazing thing," Darunia said with bubbling excitement in contrast to Link's own contempt for it. If more streets could be easily illuminated with electricity at a less expense than the few gas lightings, then it would only disrupt his flow of crime throughout the city.

Link had previously concluded that Dragmire's and his accomplice's deaths were the last of London's hype over the Jack the Ripper killings in the Whitechapel district. His operations since his release from prison had helped fuel the continuing commotion, but his and Belinda's lack of activity after the executions aided in easing the concern for crime. However, the period was brief and the new crime wave that consisted of himself, Zelda and other groups began to unsettle the districts soon after.

Even with more competition, Link and others all faced the same monster of light. He knew there was nothing he could do to halt or even slow the industrialization, but he knew not of what steps to take next.

Link had lost himself in his musings over his operation as Darunia continued to ramble about the current industrialization. "Pardon?" Link interrupted Darunia. "I'm sorry, I lost myself there," he apologized as he made mental note to discuss the revolution with Zelda.

"Quite fine, Brother! I find myself doing that as well, or just blabbering on with you," Darunia laughed. "Link, I'm old." He said this with a quiet certainty and seriousness that it momentarily unnerved him. "I'm so old, I cannot even travel very far, let alone across an ocean and to the heart of a continent. You and Zelda have both been wonderful companions these past couple of years."

"You're going to make me go to Chicago, aren't you?" Link groaned.

Darunia smiled. "Won enough money to-day to finance it."

"Why don't you just go and take Zelda?"

"I'm old," he said simply.

"You're always too old for everything," Link retorted.

In the end Link was unable to fight the old man on the matter. Their travel consisted of taking a ship from London to New York, arriving in early September of the next year. Once in New York they were to take several trains from New York to Chicago.

"These trains are starting to make me feel sick," Link said as he glanced out the window of their private compartment only to see a passing blur of color. Link's only response was the rattle of their trunks in the overhead storage. He looked over at Zelda whose nose was buried in a book in which she was devouring. Her long hair had long since returned to its natural golden honey, and he watched as her eye flickered from one side of the page to the other. "What are you reading?"

She looked up, placed her marker in the pages and handed the book to him, saying, "Herman Melville. You ever heard of him?" Link nodded and turned the book over in his hands. He felt the imprint of the title and said questioningly, "_Moby-Dick_?"

"Indeed. It's probably his least popular work, no one really likes that novel," Zelda said as she turned her attention to the moving landscape out the window as Link studied her book. When he asked her why, she merely shrugged and said, "I don't know. I actually think it's quite a lovely story. Melville uses a lot of really deep symbols."

"What's it about anyway?" Link asked opening the front cover.

"This schoolteacher, Ishmael-"

"What kind of name is that?" Link interrupted flipping through the pages. Zelda snorted.

"I don't remember where it's from," she said. "But it is a funny name, isn't it? Anyway, Ishmael, like a true Romantic, decides to become a sailor to find the truths of life in nature. While still on land, he rooms with a harpooner named Queequeg-"

"And the names just keep getting queerer!" Link interjected.

Zelda taunted him in return. "Link and Silvio are queer names."

"As if Belinda isn't?" She only smiled. "Anyway, go on," he said.

"Well thanks to Queequeg being a very skilled harpooner, he lands Ishmael and himself jobs on a ship that's supposed to be doomed. The ship's captain lost one of his legs to a white whale that he calls Moby Dick. Now, Captain Ahab is fairly queer and completely obsessed with Moby Dick, and effectively he's the cause of the ship's demise. When the ship is destroyed, Ishmael is the only one left alive."

"Huh. Mind if I borrow this?" he asked, flipping back to the first chapter.

"Be my guest," she said. "I've got plenty more books to read in my bag." And sure enough, she quickly produced another book from her bag and began to read. Link turned his head to see the title and read that it was _The Last of the Mohicans_ by James Fennimore Cooper.

"Fennimore?"

Zelda chuckled. "By the way, dearest," Zelda began, still reading her book, "why is it that you've been so against going to Chicago?"

Link stared at her, unable to answer and looked back down at Herman Melville's _Moby-Dick_ and began to read: "Call me Ishmael. Some years ago-never mind how long precisely-having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp drizzly November in my soul…"

He couldn't tell her the reason he didn't want to come. He felt that something was queer about Chicago, and he was unable to shake the feeling. It was an ominous feeling of despair as if Chicago was some sort of creature lying in wait for him to come and rip a void in him. He couldn't truly explain his own feelings or how even how they came about.

Link read on, trying to distract himself from the monster that was slowly coming closer as he struggled through the novel and often stopped to ask Zelda what Melville meant. On their last train ride before making it to their destination in Chicago, the man of twenty-four groaned, frustrated with Melville. "Zelda!" he wailed. "I just don't understand this man! No wonder no one likes it, the man's too verbose!"

Zelda's warm laughed drifted through the compartment. "What are you having trouble understanding now?" she asked.

"It's the part where Ahab's got a harpoon in his hand, and Queequeg, who's already asked for a coffin because his god left him, looks at him and says that Ahab is God-wait…! No, I still don't get it."

"Oh! he's talking about St. Elmo's Fire, and it's hitting the harpoon and glancing off. Queequeg sees that, he calls Ahab his god because he sees it as Ahab is in control."

"If you say so," Link muttered, and continued to read, still not fully understanding what he was reading. He finally finished it, and handed it back to Zelda about an hour before they pulled into Chicago. He leaped off the train, crying, "Never again! Nevermore, Melville!" Zelda clapped her hand to her mouth to hide her snicker as several people on the platform briefly turned their heads to stare at an obviously moonstruck man.

Upon asking for a place they could stay at the box office, the man gave them directions to a place Chicagoans deemed "The Castle". When they arrived pulling their trunks, they found that the name suited the building that dominated the block and a chill ran up Link's back. He unconsciously began to rub his thigh with his free hand as his thigh and shoulder began to pulse with an intense ache.

A man named Henry H. Holmes greeted them as he exited a pharmacy on the ground floor. Learning that they wanted a room, Holmes informed them that he managed the hotel, booked them a room and led them to the upper floors. Following the charming man, Link felt gloomy in the dimly lit halls as Holmes apologized that the last guests had just left in a rush for a family emergency that morning and would send for their things. Link barely listened to him as the gloominess overcame him.

As Holmes opened the door to the room, Link felt that this was it. This building. This building was the monster waiting to devour him. As the three entered the room, Link's leg and shoulder burned with a pain in so intense, he let out a soft moan as Holmes began to gather the old tenant's belongings. Looking up at him, Holmes asked if he was well.

Zelda answered for him. "It's his shoulder and leg; he was shot in those places years back. The trip must have irritated them."

Once he had gathered all the belongings, Holmes promised to have fresh sheets for the beds and offered to bring Link some pain reliever from the pharmacy below, an offer which Zelda accepted for him as Link pulled out a chair from the table in the small kitchen, slightly annoyed at Zelda's sudden change in personality.

Holmes came through with his promises, which he dealt with personally. He gave Link a bottle of pills to relieve him of his pain. When Link did not take the bottle, Holmes merely set the bottle down on the table and went to the bedroom to change the sheets while Zelda chatted idly with Holmes. Link only stared at the bottle as its shadow flittered about in the oil lamp's light. He did not take his eyes off of the bottle until he heard Holmes wish them a good night's rest and the door clicked shut in place. He then threw himself up from the chair, pain shooting down his leg as if he'd been branded with a white hot iron, grabbed the bottle and threw it in the wastebasket.

"Link!" Zelda cried angrily and retrieved the bottle from the trash.

Link paid no mind to her and headed for the door, saying, "I think I'll take a walk." Fury and annoyance began to boil in his veins as well as he reached for the doorknob.

Zelda's hand shot out and caught his wrist in a vice grip. She spoke with a deathly sternness that momentarily shook him with fear. "No, you're not. Lie down and rest, and take some of these pills that Mr. Holmes was kind enough to give you for nothing."

"I don't want them," he stated as he began to wrestle away from her, but her grip remained just as firm. She dragged him to the bedroom, tossed the covers over and forcibly shoved him down into the bed, saying, "Take your shoes off." And he complied. Zelda pulled the covers over him with a gentleness that she had not displayed to him since their arrival at the Castle. Link shifted around in the bed, unable to get comfortable with the pain in his shoulder and leg as Zelda left the bedroom. She came back with a glass of water in hand which she handed to him. She then took the bottle of medicine and read over the directions before handing him two pills.

Link stared at the pills in his left hand. He lifted his hand to his mouth and then brought it down as he took a large drink of the water. He finished off the glass and handed it back to Zelda, and as she left the room once again, he shoved his hand in between the brass bars of the headboard and crushed the pills. As Zelda's footsteps came close to the bedroom again, he quickly wiped his hand under the sheets and turned over onto his side.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked him in a kinder, softer voice.

"No thank you."

"Alright, I'm going to read for a while," she told him and then the room's lights were suddenly extinguished. Link felt unsettled as Zelda closed the door to the bedroom and he was left alone in the dark on a gloomy Sunday. It seemed that he could not find solace in the light or dark.

* * *

So after much fussing, I finally decided to locate them in England, so now we have a clear place of where they're from. But historical inaccuracies are abound, as I don't know much about British life at this time – like if they have laws against trusts and all that stuff. But oh man, I must say, I'm in love with Romantic literature. If you haven't read them, I would recommend _Moby-Dick_ and _The Last of the Mohicans_, although most people stare at me like I'm insane when I tell them how much I love Herman Melville. His "Bartleby, the Scrivener" is also a good read, and it actually pertains to America's second industrial age. So good stuff. But anyway! enough of my babbling about Romantic literature (I feel like Darunia now). Thanks for reading, there's the White City to look forward to in the next chapter. Aight, I bid thee adieu!

Chantal


	14. The White City

: The Missing Frame :

-The White City-

He'd been confined to his bed from the pain coursing through his body from his shoulder and thigh. The muscles ached. He now knew it was a warning. From his bed, he could see her leaving the room with Holmes outside the door. From his bed, he could feel his blood begin to boil. He knew it was a warning.

He'd long since finished the day's newspaper, and it lay beside him on the bedside table on top of Cooper's book – which, much to his dismay, he had finished as well. Without any reading materials, he lay restless, and finally he threw up the covers. Much protest screamed throughout his body as he rose from the bed and stretched. His back ached, but his shoulder and thigh began to throb in rhythmic pulse. The pulse beat down on him as he groaned when he bent down to snatch his shoes.

With his shoes laced and on his feet, he grabbed hold of the bedside table with his right arm and lifted himself up, the newspaper and book sliding underneath his palm. He could hear his back crack as he finally stood upright in the bedroom. He twisted around, never daring to move his feet as his back snapped. A wave of relief washed over him, but it was soon dominated once again by the pulse.

Staggering out into the gloomy hallway, his coat in hand, Link Sherwood walked with a slight limp as he made his way towards the ground floor. He passed the pharmacy without a second thought and pulled the main door of the Castle to release himself upon the street. Warm rays of sunlight bore down on him, and he felt his skin tingle. He pulled his coat on and began to hobble down the street. Each time he took a step the pulse magnified and then wavered until his other foot clacked down on the sidewalk. He smelled something foul. He continued his stroll down the block until he reached an intersection where he stopped to wait for a carriage to pass, the horse snorting as if in disapproval of him.

Link quickly crossed the street, thankful to finally be away from the Castle's grip on him. As he neared the fair grounds, the pulse began to steadily decline in intensity. Glancing over at the park, Link could see the towering white buildings, glowing majestically in the sunlight. A crowd of people gathered at an entrance, shouts of children ran to his ears and laughter lazily glided through the air. With the pulse dead, he also found the smell that overcame him by the Castle no longer ailed him as well.

Chicago was a large city, and everywhere he looked, Link saw people covering every inch of it. The blocks were long with a never ending procession of two-story buildings – the Castle towering over them at three stories and dominating an entire block, overpowered the small procession as well. The dreary buildings only mounted his misery, dull black smoke drifted up in the air above the city.

He continued his walk until he came across a street corner, and upon seeing a blonde woman standing stock still there, he feared he'd come across Zelda. The woman, as if sensing his stare, turned to meet his gaze and addressed him harshly, saying, "Do you need something, sir?"

Shocked out of his moment of a reverie, Link shook his head and apologized. "My apologies, I believe I merely just mistook you as someone else," he told her, and she nodded in reply. They stood together, watching as a train of carriages marched through the street as they waited for their chance to cross with safety.

"Have you been to the fair?" she asked, surprising him with conversation.

"I'm afraid I have not."

"Pardon me, but I'm afraid we haven't exchanged acquaintances. My name is Ilia Bradsworth." She spoke softly now, and he responded to her in the same manner. "Are you a visitor here, Mr. Sherwood? Or perhaps have you come to make Chicago your new home?"

"I am merely a visitor. My companion has been dying to come to Chicago for the World's Fair. We've just spent the last few days recuperating from the long trip here," he told her, watching as the last of the carriages passed, and the two began to cross the street.

"Do you have any business at the moment, Mr. Sherwood?" she asked lightly.

"None at all," he responded. "I was feeling a bit glum and felt the need to get up and about."

She nodded again in response before saying, "I see; then would you like to join me? Misery does indeed love company." He was startled by her offer. Surely little Ms. Bradsworth was not walking around unaccompanied? Then he remembered Zelda and her own unconventional ways, and suddenly found that the woman captured his interest.

"It'd be a pleasure," he consented, and the two companions casually walked the streets in conversation. As he conversed with her, Link suddenly felt a sheet drape over him, dragging him into a void. Although it was nice to get away from his colourfully chaotic personality, Link sorely missed the exuberant Darunia Brookeshor.

As the late afternoon drew near, Link and Ilia walked without care towards the Castle; a wave of dread submerged Link. Stopping across the way from the block sized building, the pulse began to stir again.

"Did you know that they call the fair grounds the 'White City'?" Ilia asked him.

He looked at her. "No, I did not."

She nodded, saying, "The fair is probably the only lovely thing about Chicago. This is the Black City; things aren't as lovely here."

He logged that into his memory.

Promising to call upon her again, the two parted ways. He watched for a minute as the woman hurried off before the black cloak enveloped her. Setting aside his own embarrassment of allowing her to walk home alone in the midst of the falling cloak, Link turned on his heel and faced the monster that awaited him. The pulse beat inside his body, and he began to walk again with a slight limp as he turned and crossed the street towards the foreboding Castle.

When he entered his rooms, he lazily tossed his coat on the chair at the kitchen table. Zelda was sitting on the sofa completely engrossed in a new book – one he knew, Holmes had probably bought her - and upon his entering she looked up. Her face immediately contorted in rage. Before she was able to utter even a single sound, he said matter of fact to her, her mouth hanging open, "I went for a walk."

As she began to chastise him like he was her own child, he began to strip himself of his shoes and clothes to change. He clumsily laid down in his bed, the pulse beating evermore. "If you don't mind, I'd like for some sleep now, thanks," he said to her calmly, her anger never fazing him. "If you'd like, we can head out to the fair tomorrow."

She continued to mutter and seethe in her fury, but left him there alone in the bedroom until she retired as well for the night.

"How queer," Link muttered as they sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Normally, Link would have wished to devour the meal on the spot, but since their arrival, he merely picked at the untrusting meals. He noticed that there was a strange taste to the food, but Zelda merely waved off his suspicions as she sat in own cloud of a haze.

Swallowing her food, Zelda responded, "What is?"

"Nothing," Link lied, staring her down; he dared not look away in fear that she would push the subject. She didn't, and the heavy air of silence settled in once more.

He was simply mute to any confessions here, and Link refused to speak of the matter out of his own irrationality. It was as though someone was watching them, lurking in the patches of the darkness between the hiss of the gas lights.

It was like the monster could hear.

The thought unsettled him, and he began to frantically ponder the possibility of the monster even listening in on his own private monologue. He had to chastise himself for being so illogical, and mentally slapped himself for believing that an inanimate object could be so personified. He was simply being fallacious.

As Link and Zelda headed for the fair, Link never mentioned the monster again. It wasn't as if the monster could even lurk in the White City. The buildings, neoclassical in design, were elegant and shined with brightness under the sun. Link looked down to his right where Zelda stood, latched onto his arm. He felt any numbness from the monster burst into warmness as he gazed at her while she eagerly glanced in every direction, breathless. Breathless. Breathless – that was all anyone could describe the visitors as they entered the Court of Honour, and Link felt he was the only one truly alive in the Court.

The Court of Honour – the White City. It revitalized him. The whiteness was uplifting, but he could not ignore the moving colour around him which grounded him. The colour was what pumped in his heart, located currently in his arm. The warmness of his heart, the colour in it, and the sudden fragility of it - it all pulsed in his body, all under the protection of the beloved shell on his arm.

Above all, however, Link felt changed. He felt something from the depths inside his body that which was driven down under by the monster of Chicago. He merely hoped it would last.

The two thoroughly enjoyed the White City, munching on the new snack Cracker Jack, relishing in the caramel covered popcorn's goodness and chewing the odd Juicy Fruit gum – both of which they would never find in London. The two had even come across a food that the man at the stall called a "hamburger", to which Zelda giggled behind a hand, and declined to try. Link, still feeling uneasy of the Windy City's food, declined as well.

After exploring several of the exhibits, Link felt his arm fly forward as Zelda spotted the station at the bottom of the Ferris Wheel. As they conversed while waiting in line, Link studied the massive structure. He only wished he had a way of showing the White City's own monster to Darunia, who would have been ecstatic about the construction of it. Heavy steel beams linked together in an intricate, balanced and ingenious design as it rotated thirty six large cars. The 80 meter Wheel rotated only twice in twenty minutes, stopping only six times as dozens of people filed in and out of the cars.

It was painfully obvious that the Wheel only measured up to a fraction of the Eiffel Tower's height, but height was not the marvel of the structure, but as Link and Zelda climbed aboard the Wheel with approximately fifty or sixty others, they quickly grabbed two of the few seats, gazing out of the car, excited to see the White City and Black City in motion.

The couple continued to converse with each other as the car began to shift. A nervous man standing in front of them began to fret. Link upon noticing the man's nervousness, took no note of it, and continued to focus his attention on his companion, but as the man's fragile calamity broke out in full force, the car suddenly lit to life with fear. The man, phobic of the mounting height, screamed and raged to be let out of the car; almost even falling out of the car as the witnesses merely gaped at the poor, terrified man.

The man calmed as the wheel descended toward the station, but upon the realisation that the Wheel made not one but two rotations, began his descent once more into madness.

As the Wheel rotated and the car rose toward the heavens, the man raged, and Zelda promptly stood up from her seat, pulled off her skirt to expose her bloomers and wrapped it around the man's head much to the horror of the car. The man sunk to the floor of the car, an ostrich being softly sung a lullaby as Zelda held fast to him in a warm embrace as he calmed.

Link looked out of the car; the sky glowed in a warm pink and orange hue.

He said, "Zelda, you are amazing," as they strolled the boulevards of the White City, illuminated with electric light.

The day's crowd has filtered out, and they were among the few that continued to wander in the White City. The cloak had fallen, and many were still unaccustomed to the queerness of the idea of being outside after dark. The two criminal angels graced the Court of Honour as Link asked aloud to the woman hugging his arm, "Zelda, will you still be here when I start losing all my hair?"

For a minute there was nothing. Only the laughter or conversations from other floated through the air. The silence was overpowering, and Link no longer expecting an answer, was startled when Zelda asked, "Why?"

"You've always taken me the way I am."

The stillness of the night ached, and Link began to lead her towards the exit of Jackson Park – out of the Court of Honour and out of the White City. As they climbed the steps towards the exit, she asked softly, "Can I patch the tears you make?"

Somewhat of unsure of what she meant, he felt comforted and only responded that she could. He felt her snuggle his arm as they reached the gates.

"Then yes, I'll be here."

As they passed through the gates, he asked her, "Will you sing me one of your lullabies to-night?"

She promised she would.

The black cloak embraced them as they made their way through the Black City. When they reached the Castle and retired for the night, Zelda made no move to voice a lullaby.

* * *

Not as long as I would have liked, but the next chapter might be the longest yet. And if you're wondering – yes, there really was a man that freaked out on the Ferris Wheel and a woman really did take off her skirt. I forget what they actually did to the windows of the cars, but after that they did change them. Poor fellow. Also, now having Zelda and Link British-based, I'm trying to keep in mind and switch over to U.K. spelling. I don't mean to give you guys history lessons here, but thanks to my partner in crime, I too am now in love with the Victorian era.

Anyway, before I blather on about history and Chicago, and while I don't think it will be that bad, you never know so here's a warning: **The next chapter is not for the squeamish.**

So enjoy the White City for now, the Black City and Holmes are where we're going next. Thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Chantal


	15. The Absence of Humanity

: The Missing Frame :

: The Missing Frame :

-The Absence of Humanity-

Just as he had promised, Link did in fact call on Ms. Ilia Bradsworth. He'd ventured onto her property and the two sat in her parlour and had afternoon tea. Ms. Bradsworth was most obviously a woman with wealth. Like Zelda, she wore a fine skirt and shirt, but was not so flirtatious as to wear an over-bust or under-bust corset as outerwear. Her finely-crafted leather boots clacked on the areas of wooden floor not covered by plush Persian carpet as she entered and exited the parlour, not bothering to wait for a servant to serve the tea.

Link not only admired Ilia's luxurious clothing, but he liked the parlour as well. The sofas sat on the Persian rug, upholstered with an expensive cream and sage green striped fabric. The walls were plastered with striped wallpaper – cream and a light bronze. The windows were outfitted with silky cranberry drapes that glowed with the afternoon light. Gas lights and portraits of Ilia's family lined the walls. In one corner, Ilia kept a lovely organ, only slightly played and even possessed its own candlesticks and candles.

Upon the realisation that she had forgotten the sugar, Ilia excused herself. Link caught her just as she passed through the parlour's threshold, boots beating on the wood and asked if he may play her organ. She consented as she disappeared elsewhere in the home.

Rising from the comfy sofa, Link strolled across the parlour, zigzagging between sofas and dark cherry wood centre tables. He seated himself at the organ, marvelling at the instrument. He'd never played before, and he ran his fingers across the keyboard in wonder. He pressed down delicately on one of the white ivory keys, but was disappointed to find that no sound emitted from the organ.

He looked around the room pointlessly as if by some magic, the knowledge of instrument would come to him. Link turned his gaze back down to the ivory keys, and gingerly pressed another.

Not a sound.

He tried another.

Nothing.

Another.

Nothing as well.

Leaning back on the stool, he noticed two large pedals built into the organ. He placed his left foot on the left one and lightly pressed down on it. Finding that it was much harder to do, Link applied more power and was suddenly taken aback when a large whooshing noise erupted from within the organ. He pushed down on the pedal once more, and with his right hand struck a key.

Not a sound.

Confused, Link placed his right foot on the other pedal and pushed down and struck a key.

He was jolted by the short, minute sound that floated to his ears.

His enthusiasm captured, Link began to pump the bellows of the organ in a rhythmic beat. His left foot went down, and then came up as his right foot went down. He continued this and began to pick out notes on the keyboard, completely fascinated by the instrument.

Link had no idea where the music was coming from within him, but he was suddenly aware that he was playing chords he did not know on an instrument he'd never even touched before this day. He quickly found that the faster his legs beat out a rhythm, the louder the sound emitted from the organ. The slower he beat, the organ became all the quieter.

His hands moved in a systematic succession of notes from his left hand to his right, all the while his feet creating a crescendo in volume as he moved up in the higher register of the keyboard. His left hand moved quickly into dissonant chords, over run by a melody played by his right.

Link felt his eyes begin to water as the melancholy music filled the room. The music flowed from him from the deepest depths of his heart, wrenching whatever it had grabbed hold of within him forward, fighting to break out from his chest. It was all so sickeningly sweet. A bitter candy.

It was as if he'd been longing for something just so, but had suddenly been hit by the realization that it was beyond his reach. Something so tangible, yet that was all he was meant to do.

Merely feel it with the slightest touch of the tip of his finger.

And that was all.

All the while, Ms. Ilia Bradsworth stood within the threshold of the parlour hardly aware that some of the sugar had fallen out of the cup she held, completely enchanted by his music.

He cursed to himself for losing sight of his two companions as he quickly scanned the room, the sickening stench of blood assaulting his sense of smell; a flurry of several languages clouded the air, many of them Slavic. Listening closely, he heard snippets of English from a small group to his right. Following the conversation, he came upon a small redhead child as the two men she conversed with turned away and left her to her work. As he neared her, he was shocked at the girl in the stained and filthy dress' physical appearance.

The girl was significantly underweight, so tiny that her legs looked like twigs with knobby knees. Her arms displayed little muscle mass or fat. He could see from her profile that her cheeks had already been stripped of their baby fat, something he had not imagined from a child so young. She worked diligently, packing sausages for sale, her hands bore scars, and he was appalled to see that both her ring fingers were missing, and on her right hand, her middle finger was partially severed. Noticing that shoes that she wore were broken, he could see under the toe of the shoe her right foot's pinkie toe was absent as well as part of her big toe.

Noticing his stare, she addressed him with a thick Irish accent. His eyes could not focus on her deep brown ones, but only on her nose where he found that a chunk of the tip was missing. Curious and horrified by the child's appearance, he began to converse with her, saying, "Hello, my name's Link."

"You're British," she spat.

"And you're Irish," he replied calmly. "What's your name?"

She didn't respond for a few seconds, watching her hands intently. When she did speak, she spoke so quickly that he almost didn't hear her say, "Midna."

He leaned over a bit to watch her work as he asked, "Midna, do you mind if I ask you what happened to your hands and foot and nose?"

"Got chopped off during work."

"And yet you're still working here?" he asked her. "Surely a child such as you is better off in a school, getting an education than working in a stockyard?"

Never faltering in her work, she continued to speak with him in short fragments of sentences. "Needed the money. Still do."

"Ah but! dear child, wouldn't you make more money in the future if you were educated?" he asked, trying to reason with the Irish girl.

"Need to eat."

Link felt a pang of empathy for the child. "Isn't that what your father is for? Is he not the provider for your family?"

"He doesn't make enough money for that."

"Do you have any other siblings?"

"Nope. Jus' me, Mam and Da."

"Do you all work?"

"Yuh."

"I see," he said before falling silent, still watching the child pack the meat. He smelled something off with the meat, and asked, "Is something rotting?"

"Some of this meat is bad. We have to mix it in with the fresh meat so the spoiled portions aren't wasted," she informed him. This new information somewhat sickened him, and he made a mental note not to eat any more meat during his stay in Chicago.

"Don't you think that's a bit unsanitary?" he asked, curious of the child's thoughts on the matter.

She didn't say anything for a bit. He saw her face harden as she thought about it until she responded. "I guess so. But I have to do it. Otherwise I lose my job."

"And you wouldn't be better off without it? If you don't have a job, you can go to school and then get a better job," he told her yet again, but she only shook her head. He glanced down at her bare feet before saying, "What time do you get off?"

"Nine at night."

"Do you do anything when you get home?"

"Eat a little supper, maybe wash, then go to bed," she replied.

Link thought for a moment, still gazing at the redhead. Today was Saturday, and then he asked, "Do you have tomorrow off?"

"If you don't come in at seven in the mornin' on Sunday, don't come in at seven in the mornin' on Monday. If ye later than seven sharp, don't bother coming in at all."

"What shoe size do you wear?"

The question startled her, but she answered his queer question nonetheless.

Link looked around for any sign of Holmes or Zelda, or rather the two together, as it seemed she was glued to the man. Seeing no sign of them, he continued badgering the child with questions. "What else happens here?"

"Sometimes," she began, "men fall into them open vats, and no one'll fish 'em out for days, and so all that's left when they come out are their bones. The hoisters… after awhile they have a permanent bend in their back, but that's better than the fertilizer plant. God forbid should a man have to find a job in there. This place… it smells of death," she said sadly, obviously scarred in many ways by the industrialization. "In Packingtown, we use everything from the pig but the squeal."

Link stared at the small, stoic child. Suddenly he was not disturbed by the stockyards, and nor did he feel any more pity for the Irish girl in front of him; he had suddenly rather become disturbed by the child. In the pit of his stomach, he was frightened of her, for what he saw in Midna was himself. Horrified, his shoulder and leg began to ache, and he quickly turned on his heel following the beat of the pulse as it intensified. The pulse began to beat in his head, and not watching where he was going, he nearly ran into Holmes himself.

"Ah! Link! There you are! Lose us there did you?" Holmes asked with warmness touching his speech. The pulse beat. Link knew that the warmness and familiarity in the monster's voice was merely an impression. Link looked over at Zelda; the sorrow that had slowly dripped into his heart through a pinhole overflowed within him. His gut turned. The stench was overpowering his senses, and he could barely stand it any longer.

"Beg your pardon, Mr. Holmes-" he began, but was dutifully interrupted.

"Henry, please," Holmes insisted.

"Henry," Link corrected himself and continued, "But I'm not feeling too well at the moment."

"Yes, certainly," Holmes mused. "Well, then I believe we all should give leave from here. Come; let's go down to the ice cream parlour. Would you like that Zelda?" Holmes asked her.

"Yes, I would," she responded with a smile, and Link suddenly identified some of his feelings towards Holmes. Zelda wasn't Ms. Belinda Harkinan anymore, but Holmes didn't call her Ms. Nohansen. He called her Zelda. Zelda.

Link quickly excused himself once more from the two and asked an Irishman where the girl Midna's boss was. The man pointed at yet another Irishman. He thanked the packer, who did not even pause for a second in the rhythm of his work, and Link approached the boss. He spoke briefly questioning the boss, all the while gesturing toward the little girl, and the boss gave his responses before Link then thanked the man as well and departed.

Link walked as quickly as he could without slipping on the floors back toward Holmes and Zelda. A group of Lithuanian men looked on at the three in curiosity of the visitors they rarely have, but Holmes and Zelda seemed indifferent about the whole air of the slaughterhouse. But Link only glared at Holmes as they left the Union Stockyards, and in the back of his mind, Midna and their conversation lingered.

Maybe the industrial revolution was a mistake after all.

He made no mention of the stockyard incident to Zelda as long as Holmes was in their company, and as they neared the Castle with sun hanging low in the sky, the pulse returned within Link's body. He pardoned himself from their company as they reached the steps leading to the main door of the building, promising Zelda – not Holmes – that'd he'd be back in a short while.

Holmes' moustache twitched.

Zelda nodded warily.

And then they were gone.

Link strolled down the street, winding through the light of the few gas lights that lined the main streets as the pulse died down again. He stuck to the main roadways as the hiss of gas filled the evening, fingering all the money he had in his pockets. He stopped as he came upon a cobbler's store. Once inside, he picked out a pair of fine work boots as well as an everyday pair. The clerk wrapped the shoes and Link paid the sum of almost ten dollars. He bid the man a good evening before exiting the shop.

The parcel in hand, he came upon a little girl, a boy and their parents. The little boy seemed fairly content to tag alongside his father as they caught up with the girl and her mother standing in front of a toy shop window.

"Momma please?" the girl begged.

Her mother shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "That doll costs one dollar!"

As the parents ushered their children away, Link stopped in front of the window as well. He stared at the doll the little girl had longed for.

One dollar.

An expensive doll.

Another doll lay in the window beside but of lesser quality and fragility for sixty-eight cents.

Link stood outside looking between the two before coming to a decision. He marched pass the shop door as if on a mission and was not to be distracted, but quickly stopped and looked back at the shop.

Cursing, he turned one-eighty degrees on his heel and headed back to the shop. He whipped open the shop door with a violent force, and stepped within. The clerk, upon seeing Link as a wealthy man, quickly accosted him. Thinking Link to be fastidious, he was surprised to learn that Link wanted not the doll that cost one dollar, but the one that cost sixty-eight cents.

"But sir," the clerk said somewhat flabbergasted. "The doll that costs one dollar is much finer than the other one, and I swear that I am not lying to you like another would with two clocks exactly the same but one much more expensive!"

"I care not for the finer one. It's much more fragile. I'd like the other one," Link told the clerk sternly. The clerk finally gave up the battle, and wrapped the sixty-eight cent doll for Link before he left.

Link continued his march through Chicago, taking several cars through the city as well, almost until he reached the outskirts of Packingtown once more. He found the real estate agents' offices and entered without hesitation. Finding the agent he wanted, Link entered the office sat down across from the agent without so much a word. The agent, who was obviously stunned by Link's audacity, sputtered as he greeted the blonde setting down two parcels beside him.

Link cut in. "I'd like to speak with you about the Tweed's property."

"I'm afraid that's none of your business, sir."

"How much do they still owe on the house?"

"I'm afraid that's none of your business, sir."

"How much do they still owe on the house?" Link pressed on.

Within fifteen minutes, the agent finally had enough and appeased the gentleman. Midna Tweed's family had paid a down payment on the house with a sum of twelve hundred dollars. They had paid off another five hundred dollars in instalments and insurance and interest. The insurance was five dollars a month, the instalment twelve and interest another two. The agent quickly totalled out what was left and presented the numbers to Link.

"I'll be back in the morning," Link said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll be back in the morning with the money to pay off the debt."

The agent merely nodded in response as Link gathered his parcels and slipped out the door. It was nearing late in the evening now. Link caught another car, paid the fare and sat down as the car entered Packingtown. Once off the cable car, Link wandered through the streets. Men and women and children were all arriving home now from the packinghouses as Link counted off house numbers.

When he found the house he wanted, he casually walked up the steps. Light drifted out from the windows, signifying that someone was home. Link knocked lightly on the door.

He would not see himself struggle like that again.

The door opened and a woman, ragged from the day's work, appeared before him. He greeted Mrs. Tweed and asked if he may speak to Midna Tweed. Midna's mother, somewhat perplexed by this, pushed it aside and fetched her daughter.

Not again.

The expression that rolled over her face…

Not again.

Indescribable.

Never again.

Link handed her the parcels, and as she reached for them, he would not let go. "Only if," he said softly.

Never ever again.

Midna understood, and he let go and bade them a good-night.

Never to see their faces again.

Zelda burst forth from the doors of the Castle in a flurry of controlled chaos. Her madness screamed through the night air, and Link, ignoring the pulse beating madly within him sprinted toward her.

Blood ran from her mouth down her pointed chin as she babbled wildly in his arms. Link had no idea what Zelda was frantically trying to tell him, and attempted to calm the girl down. Wide violet-blue eyes accused him of disbelief, and he tried once more to assuage Zelda.

"We have to go! We have to go!" she practically screamed it. He clamped a hand tight around her mouth and with his free arm bear-hugged her to him. She continued to struggle and fight him to no avail and quieted down after a few minutes.

"Now, please, tell me what is wrong," he begged exasperated.

"We have to go! Please, let's just go!"

"Zelda, we can't leave now! Where will we go? The trains surely aren't running for departures now."

"Please, we have to go!"

An idea came to mind.

"Fine, fine," he assured her. "We'll leave. I know a place where we can probably stay."

* * *

Wow. I didn't imagine it'd be seven pages long. It would have been longer, but I decided to break it up a bit, and so the next chapter might be a little short. I'm essentially pleased with this chapter. Lots of action and there's the shifts starting to show in the characters. I'm going to be really sad when I finish this story. Ha-ha!

Anyways, thanks for reading all!

Chantal


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